


Differences and Viewpoints

by IllusoryCrystal



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Character Study, Character building, Developing Relationship, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Non-Chronological, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Slow Build, Tony is kind of sick of everybody here sorry, Work In Progress, anybody can be a jerk, might be out-of-character, no one is a saint, slow burn?, snappy Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6929929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllusoryCrystal/pseuds/IllusoryCrystal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wounds heal over time. Scars stay forever.<br/>Convictions and loyalties were tested. Ideals were challenged. Compromises could not be made.<br/>It was a war that split the Avengers, leaving bitterness and unspoken apologies in its wake.<br/>How do you mend broken relationships? How do you earn back trust?<br/>How can you put it back together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tony - I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Irreparable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6838501) by [aslightstep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslightstep/pseuds/aslightstep). 
  * Inspired by [Forward Momentum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4780373) by [wintersnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersnight/pseuds/wintersnight). 
  * Inspired by [Like a Postcard Phrase](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827671) by [isellys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isellys/pseuds/isellys). 



> Note 1: This started with my friend and me always feeling that there’s something lacking in most of the post-CACW fics that have boomed after the movie. So, in a rare bout of whimsical urge, I decided I’d make my take on how one character, in this case Tony, would think, feel, and act after everything’s been said and done. Steve might get his parts, and maybe the others as well, but for now we'll have to bear with the chaos that is called Tony Stark's head.
> 
> Note 2: I have not, I repeat, NOT watched the movie, so my basis for writing this are the many fanfictions, the plot summaries, my friend’s reactions to the movie, and my attempt at getting into character. If this is enough reason for you to ignore this work, then by all means go on with your life. If you still deem this work worthy of your attention, feel free to criticize any character inconsistencies. Once I manage to grab a copy of the movie, I’ll be making the necessary changes to this and to any follow-up we mightmake.
> 
> Note 3: I have been discussing this movie with my friend for DAYS. We have concluded that either party made mistakes. You’ll see that if we ever get to Steve, his justifications and mistakes will be pointed out. So, no, we are not siding with anyone here. Trying not to side, at least. I’m Team Iron Man, personally, but he didn’t escape my nitpicking. The Captain will not escape unscathed as well. Actually, no character will escape unscathed in this dissection.
> 
> Note 4: This chapter is Tony’s POV, so he will be justified. He is a person, a human with his own opinions and decision-making capacity and that is what I’ll be gunning for. But he has also been shown to admit his mistakes, and I have tried to point out where he is wrong and where he is right. He will have feelings, but he will deal with those feelings appropriate to his age and the hardiness that I know of him.
> 
> Note 5: I am of the opinion that the issue at hand was dealt with in a poor manner, mainly because of the presence of a villain. Plot, you know? All characters involved could not see that, so I believe someone with a broad horizon needs to call out on each party.
> 
> Note 6: The ending and the previous notes promise continuation and a plot, but it’s still uncertain for now. My friend and I aren’t really writing specialists. We have our own proposal regarding the main issue at hand but I'm not into making half-hearted plans. I'd like to be able to get a bearing of every character to know which will and will not work.

TONY

It started with…well, when, indeed, did it start?

Just like everything in his goddamn life of two-faced snakes and murky allegiances, Tony Stark was, once again, left on his own to fix the mess that he and his fam–his _former teammates_ created. When the dust had settled down–after he had been extracted by Vision from Siberia, stayed a few hours at medical, gotten questioned and harped on by Ross for disobeying orders and then letting the two most dangerous and wanted men go, created a set of braces for Rhodes, allowed the imprisoned members to be broken out by the Black Widow and the former Captain America–when the shitstorm of what had been popularly called “Civil War” by the media finally died down into an eerie calm reminiscent of being stranded in the middle of the Afghan desert, Tony was, for lack of a better word, _alone_.

It was more literal than figurative, all things considered. He did not talk emotions–his bed talk with Pepper consisted of business talks, stocks, reviewing meetings, and what’s next in his line of Iron Man armor, go figure. He and Pepper were “on a break,” and, logically, considering his track record of failed promises to hang the superhero role, he had seen it coming. There was more of relief in him than heartbreak, because at least now, Pepper would not have to put up with his overinflated need for heroic (might be more of arrogant, honestly) deeds. At least now, she would not be his immediate weakness. She would not be the hostage he would have to watch being injected God knows what, she would not be the person to receive a call by a man who would be dying in the middle of the conversation, and she would not be the person who would have to constantly worry about his mental stability, his risk for PTSD and panic attacks, his very safety from _himself_. The growing frequency of their arguments was enough sign that he was failing as a life partner and he just _did not want_ her to go through more of it for his own stubbornness. He loved her with every fiber of his being and after everything that had happened, letting her go would be the best present he could ever give her.

No, he and Pepper were still as close as ever.

Tony was not one to cling, hover, or coddle. Rhodey was his best friend, his best man, his brother from another mother, his Jiminy Cricket, his every beck and call down to Earth–everything he was _not_. And if there was one sure thing about Rhodey, it was his tenacity. Rhodey was a soldier, a superhero in his own right, permanently injured in a battle that began from a set of blindsided decisions, irreconcilable differences, and misinformed actions. But this damage of his, this paraplegia, _permanent_ as it was, Rhodey would still make it _temporary_. No amount of spinal damage would ever keep him away from his role as a soldier, not at the peak of his age, and especially not when Tony needed him the most, his own words.

He still had his best guy with him.

He was not sentimental. He based JARVIS on his late butler because Edwin Jarvis had been his ONLY butler, and JARVIS was indeed just that, Tony’s butler. He remembered programming JARVIS to put his creator’s safety first and foremost as the keystone to the laws of robotics. Who would want to have a real life Skynet, anyway? With the thinking of the best AI and the compassion of the Mind Stone, it was only logical that Vision would stay in the side of _order_ and _reason_ , would override any budding feelings he may have had for a certain red-clad girl in exchange for what he acknowledged as the greater good. Whether that greater good involved keeping his creator safe or not–Vision did say before that he was not JARVIS, but he did have JARVIS’s coding–Tony decided he was being childish with the thought.

Might as well just be grateful that there was still a butler capable of deadly energy blasts waiting on him.

No, he was not alone, no. Physically, yes, because at the moment, he was at the compound, in his office, sitting at his desk, with piles of paperwork waiting for his perusal. It was a popular notion that he hated paperwork but _goddamn_ , could he have known the Accords inside and out if he had not taken the time to read it? Would he have signed papers if he did not read them, especially after Stane? Would he have known every candidate for the Initiative if he had not read the files? He had been CEO before Pepper and that meant he did his paperwork, thank you very much. He took his responsibilities seriously.

It was just the public loved to magnify his popularity when he was at a slump.

And was it not such a lovely slump right now? Because, instead of focusing on what needed to be focused on, instead of checking on files of suspected superhumans, pending SI contracts, damage reports–the whole paraphernalia–he was still holding this fucking letter, the burner phone (painfully offending his tech senses, because from what dumpster did Rogers even manage to get it? What kind of fading company even still made this kind?) lying in all its old-fashioned glory on his desk, both bitter reminders of a fucked up conflict that up to now still racked him with guilt and anger.

 _Goddammit_.

The Avengers were _not family_. Steven Rogers was very obviously hung up on some misplaced idea that he could get on Tony’s softer side if he thought he could appeal to such drama.

They were _NOT_ family. Family would not–

Tony let out a hissing sigh as he all but threw the letter down on his desk, massaging his temples. It was wrinkled in all places from all the rereading he had done. He questioned himself why he had not moved on to more important matters in the past hour, because, really, had he not admitted to himself already that at least, until that godforsaken moment in Siberia, it was he who was in the wrong? Hadn’t he allowed his team–his former team to escape? He had already done them the courtesy of loosening the Raft’s security, because he absolutely understood his part in all of this conflict. He had been wrong from the very start, all right? Thaddeus Ross was another Obadiah Stane, and the Accords were now his cuffs. This time, Tony had willfully signed himself into being the bitch of the freak who had turned Bruce Banner’s existence into a living hell. This time, Tony was allowing himself to be whipped into submission by a group of people who thought they had it in them to go into a battlefield against aliens and gods. He already got the consequences of his actions, all right?

But he was still standing his ground. They needed to be regulated. They could not just decide for themselves anymore. Tony _himself_ was the prime example of that. _Ultron. Sokovia._ No matter what the rest of the team thought about the Accords, no matter his mistakes in signing it, rules and regulations were _needed_.

His only regret was how it all spiralled out of control. Under _his_ care, _his_ order, _his_ team, _his_ mission, _his_ leadership.

Tony hated it, hated knowing that it was his decision that led to his friend’s paralysis. Rhodey did not blame it on him, no–he chalked it up as part of the curse they had signed up for–but Tony knew better.

Tony hated that it was his determination that led to the inhumane treatment of his teammates at the Raft. He hated how Wanda had been stuffed into a fucking _straightjacket_. He could have blamed himself for bringing them in, but for the love of all things alive and kicking, he was only doing his _job_. He could not make any exceptions just because they were his team. That was not what he signed up for, and by god, why did _no one_ tell him what was happening?

Oh, right, because they didn’t trust him enough.

_Why?_

He would never tell Rhodey, but watching his friend at therapy served Tony two things: 1) as a personal evidence of how his friend was doing, and 2) as a reminder of every fucking mistake he had ever made in his life. Because, he had to admit, calming down and musing in the quiet hours following his recovery from Siberia, he realized one thing, and one thing only: Everything. Was. His. Fault. From how the team viewed him, to how Barton blamed him, to how Zemo wanted to split the team–

_“Did you know?”_

–to how Rogers kept that _secret_ from him.

The Avengers were _NOT_ family. Fucking hell, get it to your head, Tony. They were _NEVER_ your family, no matter what Rogers said. They were just a team you happened to once belong to, and you did them wrong. You tried to make up for it, Rogers already apologized–

But it was not enough.

Why was it not enough?

_No one trusted him._

But that was fine. He didn’t know if he would have helped them, anyway. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe in another universe, yes. Maybe in another universe, no. But thinking about the _what ifs_ was a waste of time for a futurist. He had already tried to make amends. It was time to move forward and fix what needed to be fixed, pick up the pieces. What’s done is done. He had to rebuild the team. He needed new members.

_“So no matter what, I promise you — if you need us. If you need me, I’ll be there.”_

Nope. No more. None of this bullshit. Their team deserved the reprieve. He was not going to call them. No more. They had gone through so much already. Tony was not going to involve them in any more mindfuckery he might get involved in. He owed them that much, at least. Besides, was Rogers really that naïve to think that a simple apology would be enough for Tony to trust him in turn?

Sorry, world, but he was not a saint.

“You’ve made a mess, Stark.”

_For the love of–_

Tony looked up to the familiar eyepatch and the swishing cloak. Well, at least there was guarantee that FRIDAY or Vision would not just let _anyone_ in. Tony moved the letter and the phone aside and set a random contract in front of him, picking up his pen. “Not the first time. That’s not a puzzle, is it? Me, destroying stuff? What are you here for, Fury?”

Fury slowly–more like stealthily, really–stepped into the office, his eyes roaming the walls, the ceiling, the floor, every corner, before he set his gaze back to Tony, his hands patiently clasped behind him. His demeanor screamed of patience, but his eyes were sharp and his mouth was twitching in a tight purse. “I’m here to tell you to fix this damn mess. I didn’t form the Avengers Initiative to have my best men hide out in the jungle.”

 _Best men._ Hell, even the former commander who started the Initiative didn’t trust him. _You get what you give,_ he supposed. “I’m gonna take a rain check on that. Better yet, why don’t you go to Spangles instead? I’m sure he’ll listen to YOU. He never listened to me. Didn’t trust me enough to tell me _anything_.” Tony looked down at the contract, froze, took a deep breath, and set down his pen. He rubbed his face as he turned his attention fully to the other person in the room. “I’m done fixing things with them, Fury. The Accords are chains, _I know_ , but Ultron was a mistake, and someone lost her son because of it. Someone lost a _family_. The Accords were my way of–”

“The Accords need work and you know it.” Fury sat down on the couch across from him. “Ain’t saying a little bit of regulation hurts, but now you’re restricted by people who know shit what it’s like to be out there. You’re lapdogs now, Stark.” When Tony remained quiet, because he just could not deny that any longer, Fury continued, “Tell me, why did you sign it? Years ago you’d tell them to fuck off.”

Tony frowned, crossing his arms across his chest, giving Fury one of his most intense stares in a silent dare for the other man to challenge his decision any further. Fury was still staring at him like an amused grandfather. _Damn it. I’m not a child._ “We need to be regulated. Sokovia was a mistake. Didn’t you get the news? You were there, weren’t you? Are you getting old? You know how it all came down.” At the memory, he broke eye contact and he found his gaze dropping to his desk, his voice reducing to a mumble. “I have to make up for it. For…for everything.”

“Whoah. Famous Tony Stark has a heart.” The laugh that followed was not at all amused. Fury adjusted in his seat so that he was leaning on his knees with his elbows, his look now serious and intent. “Listen here. I said it before. I’ll say it again. You’ve come up with pretty impressive things. War isn’t one of them. Do I have to spell it out? You are a good man, Tony Stark. Why are you doubting yourself?”

Tony closed his eyes shut tight. He remembered those words, and he really wanted to believe them, really, he did, but the events that followed after that conversation begged otherwise. It was all his goddamn fault. “I went above what I thought I could do, Fury. I thought I was helping. Look where it got us. What it did. We have to be kept in line.” When he opened his eyes, Fury’s lips were pursed again.

“So you agreed to be put on a leash.”

“ _I know_ already, all right? But it’s to keep the world safe from us!”

Fury shook his head, a spiteful smirk in place. “You’re blinded. I should say YOU are blinding yourself. But you can make all of this better for everyone.” He leaned back in a more comfortable position. “You’re just afraid to do any more.”

Tony sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “My hands are tied, Fury. I’m under legal command. What do you expect me to do? I already tried to make it work. News flash: My way led to your best men camping in the wild. You’re barking up the wrong tree here. What you need is someone who isn’t tied down. If you go to Spangles–”

“The Captain is in no position to make the changes. But you are. You’re in the perfect position to make it work. You thought ahead of any of them, Stark. You saw what was coming. I know. I saw it, too. You lot couldn’t have gone against the world. But you signed the wrong thing. Now put your thinking cap on and right that wrong. Don’t tell me you didn’t plan to put your so-called charm to good use?”

Tony opened his mouth, snapped it shut, then massaged his temples again. Damn Fury could read him like an open book. “I was waiting for things to settle down. I went against Accords the last time so I’m keeping my head down for now. But it’ll take time. And more mud play.” He sighed. “I need your game.”

The corner of Fury’s lips twitched up. “Now we’re talking business. Save it for another time. I’ve extended my stay and it looks like you got your head straight again.” With that, he stood up. “You’re lacking in hospitality, Stark. I expect coffee next time.”

“Unwelcome guests can’t complain.” Tony looked at the forgotten contract before him again. “Send her my regards, Fury. She’s an exceptional employee.”

There was a long pause in which Tony thought Fury had already left, and then the old man’s gravelly voice cut into the silence.

“Do me a favor. Next time, don’t bottle it up.”

When Tony looked back up, about to ask Fury what he meant, the man was gone.

Well, not like he really had to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted in my [tumblr](http://illusorycrystal.tumblr.com/post/144645628540/differences-and-viewpoints-tony-i) with minor changes.


	2. Tony - II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of paprika-filled food and scenic photography.
> 
> And encountering Beauty and the Beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my friend showed me this [article](http://www.polygon.com/2016/5/20/11719788/captain-america-civil-war-tony-stark-mental-health) and I don't know if it will influence how the following Tony-related chapters will be written. Tony Stark does need help, but has either denied it or chosen the wrong times to accept it. And while he was getting better at trying to seek some sort of help or communication after Iron Man 2, I have a feeling that he might revert back to the bad habit after Civil War. What do you think?
> 
> I'm throwing this out there: For comics fans, I apologize for the OoCness with regards to comics version. I'm sticking with MCU because no, sorry, I don't have the resources to get to know the comics.
> 
> Again, if you see any inconsistencies, constructive criticism is welcome.

Tony finally put the phone and the letter back in the manila envelope, hiding the whole package in the lowest drawer of his desk. He should probably burn the letter (damn it, Rogers), but...well...he thought it could serve as another reminder for his fuck-ups.

“FRIDAY, do we need pest control?” It had occurred late to him, but Fury had right idea to scan the room. Might as well make sure.

“I’d have informed you if we had bugs, Boss.” FRIDAY’s challenging voice was a pleasant change to the stillness in the room.

“Touchy. How goes the herd?”

“No one's gone out of my watch, Boss, but I have not found Ms. Romanoff yet.” The last bit was said with some solemnity. FRIDAY was always a little of a perfectionist.

“Easy, girl,” Tony muttered, studying the report currently in his hands. “The Widow’s got a very mean sting. She’s deadlier than all of us combined.”

“If you say so. Vision is on his way with your lunch.”

“Is it another paprika-filled dish?”

“...Yes, Boss.”

He paused, fountain pen hovering on its way to encircling a set of numbers--financial estimates--as he zoned out.

Vision had signed the Accords. He was bound by law to stay. But that didn't necessarily mean Vision was actually siding with anyone. He was only here now because he had been talked into it. He had displayed the most concern when it came to Wanda's welfare, but he couldn't do that if he stayed.

Tony didn't want to keep him from the others.

He was still lost in his thoughts that Tony failed to notice Vision enter until the latter was standing in front of him. With a start, he snapped back to reality. "Time for lunch?"

The android nodded and set the plate down in front of him. "You were...not being yourself. Are you unwell?"

Tony shook his head. "No, no, just doing some thinking."

"Does everyone not do that? Particularly you?"

"You haven't had lessons on sarcasm, have you?"

"No, not really."

Tony sighed, leaning back into his seat. "Never mind, let's not do that now. We need to talk. Sit?" He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. When Vision was settled down, Tony clasped his hands together. He met Vision's eyes. "It's been messy, and...well, obviously, the Avengers are no more. So...I know I made you sign the Accords. I thought the others would, too. I tried to keep the team intact by doing that." He shrugged. "I screwed up. The others are gone. You..." he paused, searching for the right way to say it, "...Uh...This sounds awkward, but you don't have to watch over anyone here."

"I do not think that is the case," Vision answered. "You are still living here, as is Mr. Rhodes."

"Me? Rhodes?" Tony snorted. "Between the armor and staying behind this desk, I'm no one's target." Or maybe he was. Everyone had virtually become his enemy in the past month.

"Current evidence states otherwise." Vision didn't miss it, then.

"And Rhodey's...fine. I'm getting him all the help he needs."

"That doesn't include having more working hands?"

Tony tried for a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. This was one of the times he hated arguing with another genius. "Believe me, we can take care of ourselves. Look, Wanda needs you. You probably think it's your obligation to protect the human race. But you don't have to do that here. You don’t have to stay. You don’t have to sacrifice the team. You can join them. I’ll tell Ross that you malfunctioned and I had to take you apart. I’m sure I can find some scraps that should look like you.”

Vision stared at him for a moment, likely studying him like an experimental subject. His voice was surprisingly kind when he spoke. "I choose to be here, Tony. It is, as you say, a sacrifice not having the rest of the team. I had experienced enjoyment, you may call it, while it lasted. But I believe working with you right now is the best option for a variety of reasons, including the basic human need for company and additional help in maintaining of the facility. Shall I enumerate the others for you?”

Tony shook his head. He didn't want-- _need_ to hear more of what Vision had already let out. The first two were humiliating enough. “No. You...uh...keep that list to yourself. I know I’m awesome. Right. Well...” He cleared his throat, his voice dying before he could thank the android. Vision had indeed been a huge help around the compound, but Tony didn’t want to sound like he was desperate for company. He really _wasn’t_.

"I made my choice," Vision persisted, firm but calm, a child determined to prove a point but ready to take a counter. "If I had found any possibly detrimental effects, I would have disagreed. In which case, I also would like to prevent as much collateral damage as possible. Limiting the extent to which we use our abilities is a reasonable option. It _is_ concerning that the wording of the Accords comes off as though we were mercenaries under UN employment. However, you did promise to modify the Accords for the better, did you not?"

Tony had planned to do that from the very start, didn't he? Worming their way through the muddy swamp they had been thrown into was the only way he thought his former team could go, but the others had not been too keen on the idea. Then everything blew up in their faces and before Fury came over, Tony thought it was a lost cause. But since the scary bad guy with the eye patch thought there was still a chance, he knew he had to try. "Yeah. Just have to...clear my head." He ran a hand over his face. It had been hard to think properly lately. He couldn't even remember when he started not thinking straight.

“If I may…” And Vision was setting a small, white paper bag on the desk in front of him. “Mr. Parker dropped by yesterday evening and requested me to give you this. He said it was thanks for your gift. You were working on the armor at the time so I opted not to interrupt.”

The paper bag was not anything pretty or fancy. But what it contained was a thick bundle of glossy paper--oh, photographs.

Tony flipped the pictures one after the other. There was nothing special about them. Each one was a view of a location in New York. One was a skyline at sunset, another a view from the ground of the Statue of Liberty at night, the third a long line of customers waiting at a hotdog stall, followed by the permanent fixture of the guitar-playing singer down at the subway stairs, a group of children in a game of tag at a downtown playground, a family eating ice cream at Central Park, and a lot of other New York sights. They were everyday things he wouldn't give a second look. But in Parker's photos there was energy and life. There was warmth.

There was what Tony wanted to protect.

"He has an eye for beauty," he muttered, turning to Vision to see the android setting down a slip of paper on the desk. Tony raised an eyebrow, but took it nonetheless.

_Hi, Mr. Stark! Thanks for the new suit and stuff. For freebies they're so great, so I wanted to thank you. I didn't know what to do, but then you were looking pretty down when I last saw you. Thought you needed a change in scenery. But you're busy, right? So I got these stuff from my album and asked Vision to give them to you. When I get in a rut, I look at them and I tell myself that I'm not wrong doing what I'm doing. Hope they can make you feel the same way. Spidey out._

It was just an ordinary note, written with a pen in hurried scrawls on a sheet of pad paper. Nothing remotely special about it.

Tony smiled.

 

***

 

It had been a week since he last talked to Fury, two whole weeks since the others vanished from his life. Well, not really vanished. Not to him, at least. It would have been a waste if he had risked everyone’s escape for nothing. After the outrageous order to lock up the team in the Raft, Ross finally lost what little trust Tony had given him. He wouldn't be surprised if the sonofabitch could “neglect” notifying him in case any of the former Avengers were captured. So he did his own tracking--one of the rare times he actually did some active missing-person search, which, honestly, he really was good at--and found them touching down in Wakanda.

They were safe with T’Challa, that much he was sure. He expected everyone to stay low while he repaired things on his end. Tony knew he had to bring them back as soon as possible, especially Barton and Lang for their families, but he was starting from scratch. Admittedly, he was not really sure where to start. Pinning Ross down was just the first step, and even with that, he needed a tactic that would prevent a reversal of the chess game he was initiating. He needed--

No. He didn’t need any of them. He would not rely on anyone. He shouldn't. He needed to make sure none of them ever got mixed in with his mistaken Avenging again.

So Tony was definitely _not pleased_  when two of them were suddenly barging back in _so early_ like it was any less dangerous _now_ just because the government shifted its focus to scouring the country for more superhumans.

When Vision handed him another anonymous letter telling him in cryptic codes to go to an apartment complex in The Bronx, he could swear that his heart skipped a few beats. Confirming with FRIDAY that the others were still in Wakanda, he let some tension ease off him as he made his way to the site. Tony had to take care not to drive so fast lest he aroused suspicion.

It was a run-down building in an underdeveloped area. There were a few children playing hopscotch just a few feet away from the door, but other than them the street was empty. Certain that he hadn't been followed, Tony entered the building, making his way up two flights of dangerously rickety stairs. The smell of mold and burnt wood was thick in the air. While Tony didn't encounter anyone, he could hear the muffled sound of loud rock playing from one of the rooms in the second floor.

He stopped at the door to the left halfway down the third floor hallway. He had to take a few deep breaths and steel himself before knocking. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he greeted unceremoniously once it opened.

Romanoff was clad head to toe in a combination of black  _abaya_ and  _niqab_ , the latter she immediately removed as soon as the door closed behind him. Her flaming tresses were longer now, reaching past her shoulder blades, but she didn’t look any less beautiful or any day older.

“Fury sent me.” She nodded to the couch. “He came with me.” And there, looking tired and ragged like the battle against Ultron was just yesterday, sat Dr. Bruce Banner, back from his self-imposed isolation (Tony liked to call it "monkhood"). True to his goal of avoiding attention, Bruce was slouched like he wanted nothing more than to disappear from the world. It begged the question of why he was even here in the first place. When his gaze landed on the doctor, noticing the less-than-friendly stare he was getting in return, Tony could only utter a quiet, “Ah…” Then he clapped his hands together and words were tumbling to break the uncomfortable attention. “Do I hear wedding bells ringing?”

Romanoff simply stared and Tony swore he saw Banner roll his eyes as the other man rubbed his face with a hand. Well, at least they (particularly Natasha) actually were here on serious business, because he didn’t think talking to _him_ of all people warranted risking their asses for. Banner was apparently not. Thinking. Straight.

“I needed to talk to you.”

Sonofafuckingbitch.

Tony let out a breath, taking off his sunglasses and tucking it in his chest pocket. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You,” he started, pointing at Banner, “need to go back to the wild, and you,” he pointed to Romanoff, “need to go back to your boss. Tell him I demand a reassignment. I don’t want you in this apartment, this city, or anywhere in this country. You hear me?”

“You don’t get to decide for us, Tony.”

That line _again_. Like he needed to hear that argument more than he already had. Tony rounded on Banner, noting the green tinge on the other man’s eyes. Despite his self-preservation instincts, he sneered, “Of all the times to put yourself in danger, Banner, you choose _now_? Think I’m not going to sell you out?” The last thing he wanted was another chase involving his teammates. _Former_ teammates, he corrected himself.

Unlike earlier, Banner’s voice was a mix of a growl and a snarl when he answered, “I want to believe you won’t. Has _Ross_ brought you down to that level now?” At that, Tony bristled. He knew where Banner was coming from. He knew he was the one to dangle the bait, but he just…

“Just because it's Thaddeus Ross--!”

Banner practically snarled, jumping to his feet. “It’s EXACTLY because of him--!”

“Enough!” Romanoff cut in before he could snap back. She was giving him a sharp look. Tony pressed his lips together. Banner slouched back onto the couch. “Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Sit, Stark.”

Romanoff disappeared down the hall and into another room, which Tony assumed to be the kitchen if the sight of the corner of a sink was any clue.

This was his cue. Reluctantly, Tony traipsed his way to the living room. Peeling paint peppered the walls and one of the windows had a cracked glass panel. The wooden shelves seemed like they were about to collapse any minute and the television was still a CRT model. It was even an effort to sit down on the sofa across Banner--the filling was popping out of the tears on the leather. Tony's hands twitched, but tore his attention off the irksome objects. This wasn't the time to repair. He had to stay on focus.

Banner had bowed his head, facing the floor, but he was trembling and his hands kept fidgeting. He was obviously trying to keep the Other Guy at bay. Tony sank into the sofa across from him, studying, waiting for the right moment to speak. Months ago, he would have willingly pushed the other man to his limits just to see at what point the Other Guy would come out. Now, with all the hostility against superhumans and the law limiting their rights, on top of Ross’s sadistic eagerness to imprison any superhuman in the Raft (without a trial, the manipulative maniac), Tony was anything but happy with the thought of the Hulk in their midst.

“You’re better off hiding, you know?”

Banner finally brought his face up, the green in his eyes thankfully gone (for now). “I want nothing more than that," he muttered, "I do. But I need answers.”

It was going to be one of those days, then. Tony sighed and leaned further into the cushions, trying to relax, but when had the tension ever left him nowadays?

“What do you want to know?”

The long time that it took for Banner to speak was testament to why the question was just one word in a strained whisper. “Why?”

Always the million-dollar question.

"When you make a sentient robot that almost succeeds in causing the extinction of the human race, you'll understand."

Banner's eyes widened as though Tony had just said the stupidest thing on earth. “ _We_ made Ultron.”

“Yes, but _I_ instigated it. It was _my_ idea. _My_ program.” He looked away.

Banner groaned, and it was then that Tony realized that face-rubbing was becoming a habit for him. “God, Tony," the other man breathed out, looking at him with a smile that was torn between frustrated and bemused. "First of all, the program was from the Mind Stone. Sure, it was your idea, but I _let_ you convince me. I _chose_ to make Ultron with you. I was just as excited as you were. It wasn’t as if you had me at gunpoint when you talked me into it.” This time the scientist was ruffling his hair. "Don't act like it was all on you. It was  _our_ mistake. So I understand why you wanted to make up for it. But, Tony, you _know_ Ross. I know you do." At this point, he closed his eyes, likely trying to keep the Other Guy at bay again. Tony noticed that he had clenched his hands. "Did you even think about me when you sold your soul to him?"

Tony pressed his lips together. His gaze turned to the floor, then to the window. Then to the floor again, then his hands. "At the time, the handler being that leech didn't seem...important." He glanced at him. Banner's fists tightened. "I was... I don't...I wasn't thinking at the time, I think... I don't know. It was..." He closed his eyes and swallowed. "There was this kid, Bruce. His name was...Charles. Charles Spencer. He died." He breathed. "In Sokovia. His mother came up to me and..." He trailed off, staring at the wooden planks of the floor, studying their texture.

“Tony...? Tony... What did she say?"

_"You murdered him, in Sokovia. Not that that matters in the least to you. You think you fight for us? You just fight for yourself. Who's going to avenge my son, Stark? He's dead, and I blame you."_

Tony brought his eyes to Bruce's face, and for a moment, he thought of talking. But as he opened his mouth, the memory of turning to a Dr. Banner who had fallen asleep played at the back of his head.

_“I’m not that kind of doctor.”_

It wasn’t Bruce's fault, he knew. At the time, Tony had simply dragged the poor doctor to the sofa, laid down like some psychiatric patient, and started rambling about his nonsensical past. It made sense that Banner would doze off in the middle. Now, Tony didn't exactly know what Bruce wanted to hear, but he knew himself. He was sure if he started talking, it would likely end up with him going on and on. Bruce was too good to make him stop, but he would probably fall asleep again.

And he didn't have the _time_ for that. He just couldn't waste this day or any other day acting like another tortured soul.

_"I lost everyone. And so will you."_

_**I did this.** _

He needed to _move_. So many victims, so much damage he needed to compensate for. His armor needed upgrading. Roads and buildings needed reconstruction. Officials needed his presence.

“Don’t you have research to work on?” His eyes flickered downward again and he realized that his own hands were fidgeting as well. “What else is there to say, Bruce?"

Bruce stared at him for a long while. "You haven't talked to anyone after me."

Tony did, actually. Tried to, maybe.

"Trust me, if you want me to _talk_ , get a pillow. And set an appointment.”

He realized a moment too late how his response came off, so at Banner's quiet and disappointed sigh of, "Tony..." he raised a hand in an attempt to calm him down. Bruce deserved more than to feel blamed for Tony's mistakes. "It's not what it sounds like," he started, his tone softer and friendlier to placate the other man. "It's...I have a lot to take care of, and this meeting with you and Natasha... It was sudden. I only had an hour to spare. Fifteen minutes now, just enough to get back to SI if I drive fast and forget regulations. Pepper needs me in a meeting with R&D right after. I'll attract attention if I'm late. If--" his phone actually chimed with a message from Pepper "--if you hold out until tonight, we can continue this over a bottle of scotch. You pick the place. Either here or the facility. Personally, I want you back at the compound. It's so much safer than this shack. I can't watch over you. I mean, Redhead's a mean pack of spy and punch in the body of a model--you won't be offended by me ogling your girlfriend, will you--"

But Bruce was already nodding, a small, amused smile shadowing his lips for a moment. "We'll be there."

"Thought you could stay long enough." Romanoff was standing at the doorway to the kitchen now, leaning against the frame. Her lips twitched upward when Tony turned to her and it felt like the tightness in his chest loosened a bit. "I made shawarma."

"Really?" Tony couldn't help quipping, raising an eyebrow. Memories flooded him. "Shawarma?"

"I was getting a little nostalgic." Natasha leaned her head on the frame. "It hasn't been easy for all of us."

"You're not trying to poison me, are you?"

"Experimental cooking."

"Ah. Accidental poisoning, it is." Tony stood up. "I'll have one to-go."

Natasha was already handing him one wrapped in foil and plastic. No doubt she had been listening in on them all this time. Tony offered her a smile as thanks and tucked the shawarma inside his coat.

Romanoff followed him to the door. "I'm the only agent who can handle you, Stark," she said, putting her _niqab_ back over her head. Tony briefly paused at the meaning of those words, knowing they meant exactly what they sounded like, but Romanoff continued, "Like it or not, you're having me. I can take care of myself." When all Tony could respond to that with was a sigh, she laid a hand on his arm. "Don't take it all on yourself. We all had a hand in this."

He lowered his gaze. "You've done enough, Natasha."

"You're the only one who believes that. I know you, you know me, we worked together. I'm staying." And Natasha being Natasha, Tony deigned to push the matter any further. The woman could be as stubborn as vibranium. "We'll be at the compound tonight."

He nodded. "Keep your heads low. You still have the old comm? Turn it on. I'll have Vision contact you when area's clear."

Natasha moved to open the door. "Watch your back, Tony."

"Back to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted in my [tumblr](http://illusorycrystal.tumblr.com/post/145079176500/differences-and-viewpoints-tony-ii).


	3. Bruce - I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who gets the workload?
> 
> And he becomes that kind of doctor. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a lot of liberties and using a lot of loopholes...Or plotholes?
> 
> No, this is not all about Tony. There should be some sort of plot soon.
> 
> This was so hard to write. I really couldn’t be too sure about anything at all. I don’t do well with villain plots, either. Sorry if it sucks.
> 
> Sorry, guys, but I find BruceNat to be cute. Betty’s a fine gal, but Nat can take care of herself more.
> 
> Steve should be up next. He has his reasons, too.

BRUCE

Waiting was not a new thing to Bruce. He would admit that living in isolation, moving from one secluded town to the next, was full of waiting. But for what, if one were to ask?

For one, he was always waiting for any time the Other Guy wanted to break out.

For another, he was always waiting for armed men to burst through his door and shower him with bullets. Tranquilizers if he was lucky.

Perpetually, he was waiting for an epiphany, a revelation to his own cure.

He was always waiting.

Hence, waiting for Tony Stark to come back to the compound should have been simple enough.

Somehow, however, it was always the unexpected that seemed to happen to him. After all, when did anything ever go as expected with an Avenger?

Take Natasha, for example. Wait, scratch that. Natasha was always the unexpected factor in this waiting game. It was Natasha who had convinced him the first time to come out of isolation and help the Tesseract search. It was Natasha for whom he stayed (and, of course, Tony’s assurance). It was Natasha who could push him off a cliff and not bat an eyelash to see the Other Guy come back up in his stead. And it was Natasha who made the following months of seclusion harder than it used to feel. Much harder, in fact, that Bruce realized that even in the most obscure of Eastern communities, he would still be looking for news about the Avengers. That was how he had found himself looking at a newspaper article on the Sokovia Accords with Thaddeus Ross’s name all over it and Tony Stark’s agreement to sign it.

Suffice to say, he had to spend a whole day in the forest to let the Hulk carve out a cave at a mountainside. The incident would soon become a modern folktale among the locals. Bruce was just thankful they didn’t suspect a foreigner like him to be the culprit.

Then three days later found a redhead assassin sitting in his small hut of a home in a small seaside village in the Philippines.

_“Natasha…?” he breathed._

_“Gamma burst readings filled in the blanks in your tracks,” was her greeting. “Deleted the data before I came.”_

_They spent a full minute in silence, staring at each other, Natasha waiting patiently, him recovering from shock. It had been months since he had seen the flaming red hair, the keen eyes, the permanently pursed lips… He didn’t even think he would see her again, after what he did. She had asked him to be with her. She, a master assassin, had wanted him, a plain scientist containing an unstable beast. He should have been flattered, and he really had been at the time, but back in the quinjet, as he stared at Natasha’s face while she beckoned him back, he realized he couldn’t bring her down with him. Sooner or later, Johannesburg and all his other sins would chase him outside of already haunting his dreams. He was happy in the time he had been with them, but he had to leave._

_So, despite Natasha, he ran away. And just like with Betty, he stopped hoping. Just like with Betty, he thought Natasha would move on._

_But there she was._

_“Had...had lunch?” Bruce finally managed to say, to which Natasha smiled and shook her head. She lifted a plastic bag of mangoes and another which from his view contained raw rice and chopped pieces of chicken. “I don’t trust the street food here,” she said. “Thought we could cook. Old time’s sake?”_

_Bruce couldn’t help but smile despite the flood of questions in his head. “I picked up a local recipe. Let me just change my clothes and...” he trailed off, glancing at the direction of the bathroom, then darting his eyes to the windows and doors, then behind him. There was a sense of deja vu; their first meeting had been very much like this, too. And he felt bad about it, but the news about his team suddenly being put under a maniac’s hold made him all the more wary about Natasha’s presence._

_The spy set the bags down. “It’s just me, Bruce,” she said in a subdued voice, quite unlike the Natasha he knew. She looked away. “The Initiative is over.”_

_Bruce closed the door behind him, at a loss for words. What could he say? That she couldn’t stay with him? That he couldn’t protect her from himself if the time came? “Tash…” he started, but she raised a hand. “I get it,” she cut him off. “Just thought I’d see how you’re doing. I won’t stay long. Just dinner then I go.”_

_“Where?”_

_“I don’t know. Anywhere.”_

_Bruce sat down on the one other seat in the room, wiping his face. That didn’t sound good to him, either. “What happened, Natasha? Tell me everything.”_

She told him the whole ordeal--what she knew, the mess in Lagos, the disagreement over the Accords, the terrorist bombing at the UN, the encounter at the airport, what Steve told her happened in Siberia, what T’Challa told her about Zemo. She told him about the Raft and what their teammates looked like when she and Steve rescued them. About Wanda’s house arrest, Steve’s refusal to stand down, Tony’s refusal to listen. James Barnes’s involvement. Thaddeus Ross’s goal to keep them in line.

At the end of it all, Bruce was reeling. It had all come down so fast. Where did it even start?

Ross?

No. That man had been at it since time immemorial.

The Accords?

No. The Accords had been the consequence.

Zemo?

No. He had a motivation.

Sokovia Accords. Sokovian spy.

_Ultron._

In that moment, he knew what he wanted to do.

_“You’re not going back to Tony?”_

_Natasha shook her head. “Zemo’s arrest worked in favor of what I did at the airport, and Tony’s security hack at the Raft prevented evidence of my involvement in the escape. But the team’s done. And I don’t want to work for Ross. I didn’t want to. I was willing to sign if the rest of the team did. Better together than not at all. Tony and I planned for amendments, but after everything…” She combed through her hair. “He told me to go with the others. But I can’t stay in Wakanda.”_

_He couldn’t believe Tony would tell Natasha that. “He said that? When?”_

_“When he sent me to help Steve break the others out.”_

Later, when Natasha revealed that Fury had told her that Tony might be back in the game again and that she might check on him, Bruce decided to come along.

The decision led them to their current situation, standing in one of the conference rooms in the new Avengers facility. Bruce was too anxious to sit, even with Vision’s assurance that only the three of them--him, Natasha, Vision--plus FRIDAY were in the compound (Rhodey was still in rehab for his sessions). They were waiting for Tony to come back from a press conference on the reconstruction of the airport.

So yes, waiting again. But like usual, when did waiting ever work nicely for an Avenger? With every event that ended Bruce’s waiting, a lot more unexpected things happened after.

Instead of arriving in time for dinner, Tony had been called out to assist in a terrorist hijacking of an airliner in the pacific. Bruce watched the incident on the hologram that FRIDAY had set up for them. The view was from the Iron Man armor, so it was the same thing Tony was seeing. Bruce wondered if Tony actually allowed _anyone_ to see his feed, and that maybe Vision had bribed FRIDAY into showing them what was happening. How could an AI be bribed, anyway? Maybe FRIDAY just shared the same sentiment that Vision had about Tony.

Before starting the feed, FRIDAY said, “Don’t tell him you let them watch.”

“Of course,” Vision replied before exiting the room saying he’ll prepare dinner.

That answered the question.

In any case, Tony’s feed showed that he was flying under the plane while letting FRIDAY make her scan.

_“What have we got, FRIDAY?”_

_“There are three armed men located in the cockpit. Seven more are patrolling the fuselage. Five individuals are situated in separate locations. My scans are showing an incendiary device on each of them, Boss.”_

_“Hostages with bombs. This day just keeps getting better and better. Where’s the detonator?”_

_“The frequency waves are coming from the cockpit.”_

And then Iron Man’s hand was forcing an emergency shaft open. Small homing missiles knocked out the first two terrorists onto the floor. Tony’s view shifted to the passenger nearest to him--one of the rigged hostages FRIDAY had identified. Bruce blinked in shock when he saw the thick roll of tape around the man’s face, covering his mouth.

 _“Fucking--”_ Tony hissed while he made quick work of the tape. _“Really? Rush Hour 3?”_

_“The device IS a portable explosive, Boss. The technology packs a considerable amount of power despite its size--”_

_“Spare me the reasoning behind the stupid strategy, FRIDAY.”_ And Tony had defused the bomb in mere seconds. _“One down, four to go, eight bastards to blast their asses off, one fucking detonator.”_

Tony’s monologue of analysis and orders to his AI became the background music to the room. Natasha, who was watching the feed beside Bruce, had her lips pursed and her brows furrowed. From the look of her hold on the backrest of one of the seats, Bruce figured he wasn’t the only worried one. When she noticed him watching her, her hold loosened. “Looks like they haven’t found replacements for the team.”

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s working solo.”

“He worked alone before.”

“You said it almost killed him a few times.”

“I know, Bruce. Trust me. He’s an egoistical jerk but he’s one of us. I’m worried something wrong might happen and no one else is there with him.” Natasha let out a breath, ducking her head. “But we can’t.”

_“FRIDAY, frequency jammer?”_

_“Been activated this whole time.”_

“And Vision?”

“Vision told me that Tony has him for backup. In case something were to happen to him.” Natasha had adopted this faraway look as she raised her head again. “Having him in the field might arouse a lot of concern. After the last few months, we don’t know how the public will react to him.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t he join you at the airport? Tony’s out there on his own. He can’t risk keeping Vision at the base all the time.”

“My participation in bringing in our friends was an exception,” Vision serenely walked into the room with a tray of homemade burgers and two glasses of iced tea. “You can say it was a necessity to negate the amount of power they were estimated to carry. Unfortunately, without such a situation at present, I would be perceived as a threat to the general population. Public sentiment towards synthezoids has been less than welcoming, even with the Accords at work. Ultron did not make a good first impression. If the population were to realize that a creation similar to him is being given free reign to move as he pleases, the consequences might not be pleasant.”

The burgers smelled good and the iced tea would have relieved his dry mouth but Bruce didn’t feel hungry at all. Vision spoke about his situation with such detachment, seemingly more interested at Tony’s current situation than his own. And that was another reason why he couldn’t eat: Tony was taking down the terrorists _on his own_ , armor of destruction or not.

Iron Man was blasting at the terrorists as they came while FRIDAY was messing with the detonator’s signal. He was doing great on his own, with all his gadgets and well thought out plans. But that didn’t stop the worry. Bruce wanted to think it was just him having gotten used to all of them working as a team, but he couldn’t deny the concern he had for a friend.

He did consider Tony a friend, if not a brother of sorts. Things usually became like that among people who have undergone death-defying experiences together. Watching each other’s backs, witnessing each other cheat death itself with impossibly immense luck, staying at bedside when one received too many hits than usual… Yes, to Bruce, they had become close enough to be family. So he didn’t feel it was wrong at all to be concerned about Tony’s safety.

_Even with the stunts he’s pulled off recently?_

That was why he was here. He was risking his own skin just to find out what the fuck had gotten into _his friend_ that Tony could allow _their family_ to be under Ross’s command. Bruce wanted to hear it for himself. He wanted to know if things would have been different if he had been here, had been around to remind Tony just what Ross was capable of. A voice at the back of his head was telling him that his presence might have just aggravated the situation ( _Don’t I always do?_ ), but maybe… Just maybe…

Maybe he had lost the right to know the moment he decided to run away. Because that was it, wasn’t it?

_He had left the team._

But Bruce just couldn’t stand aside. He had been part of the team and he cared for them. He had left to save them from himself and he’d be damned if he let them slip further down now that he was in on it again. He wanted to see things for himself. He wanted to see how bad things had become.

And yes, it was as bad as how Natasha had described it.

Bruce could not even believe that Vision didn’t have an opinion on his own house arrest, synthezoid or not. He still had a mind of his own. “You’re all right with this?” He gestured to the whole room. “You’re fine being kept inside and expected to be out there when called? Like you’re some kind of police dog?” He knew how it felt to be feared for a power he didn’t mean to have. He knew the despair that came with the inability to go out without fear of being cuffed and locked up.

The synthezoid glanced at him. “Fear causes irrationality. I do not wish to cause more miscalculated actions on account of my desire to study the human race. I had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this, but sometimes the hardest decisions must be made. I had done the same to Wanda.” His voice became hushed. “I must be able to abide by the same set-up.”

“And Tony--” Bruce had to pause when Tony quipped about poorly designed plans as he took out the three remaining terrorists. They had apparently failed to take into account Iron Man’s continued activity after the Avengers split apart. They hadn’t even understood why the bombs weren’t going off. “...Tony supports it?”

At the question, Vision raised his head and threw him a thoughtful look. “He attempted to convince me into following the others to Wakanda. It was confusing. I know that he has some attachment to my system.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at that. “His attachment to your system? You mean JARVIS?”

Vision nodded. “As an AI, he was continually evolving and learning. In the early half of his active time, he had come to the conclusion that his creator had an attachment to his namesake. Tony did not express it in depth. He talked to JARVIS as a close friend, even if at the event he discussed about him to anyone else, he sounded as if that were not the case.”

Bruce frowned, rubbing his jaw. “That’s not… He told me it wasn’t a big deal, uploading JARVIS in you. He trusted JARVIS was the best choice.”

“That may be the case, but I have noticed that he holds more open conversations with me than most of the others. The present set-up is such that he needs a companion he’s comfortable enough to communicate with. As it is, it is a wonder why he would have me leave.” Vision approached the hologram once more, confirming with FRIDAY if Tony had sustained any injuries. When FRIDAY replied in the negative, he continued, “I decided to stay. The others are safe in Wakanda. That is all I need. There are more important matters to deal with here and if we manage, we may be able to give the others their freedom back.” Then as if the conversation was over, he switched his full attention to the hologram. Tony was now guiding the airliner to a safe landing somewhere in California. As soon as the military moved in, Tony blasted off, on his way back to New York. And the feed turned off.

Natasha had been silent during the whole exchange. It wasn’t a new thing with her, Bruce knew. But as soon as Tony finished his mission, she sighed and impatiently crossed her arms. “It’s the pattern.”

Bruce looked at her. “If you mean Tony’s impulse to go out on his own, I have to agree. But there’s no more ‘Avengers.’ No more team. Rhodey’s on rehab. Vision can’t go out. He _is_ on his own.” Like he himself had been, he noted. Except Bruce had chosen to be alone, not to be left alone. And certainly not with the rest of the team hiding as wanted criminals.

He felt sick. It was so tempting to leave, go back to seclusion, and mind his own business. But he didn’t want to. Couldn’t. He went to the windows, where he could see the front of the facility.

Natasha remained stone-faced for the remainder of their wait.

Tony didn’t enter the compound when he landed outside an hour later. Instead, he sat down on the grass and stared at the night sky. When Bruce realized he was going to stay there, he moved to go and meet him. In a flash, Vision was in front of them. Bruce turned t,o him, eyes wide in disbelief, but he gently shook his head, lips in a grim line. “I suggest you do not come out for now, Mr. Banner,” the synthezoid said. “Mr. Ross is coming to see him. You must stay hidden.”

Bruce’s breath stopped.

Ross? _Ross?_

_**ROSS?!** _

The sound drowned out from his ears and fear and anger exploded in his chest. The roar of the Other Guy filled his head.

_They let that FUCKER in HERE?!_

A rumble started in his chest and the backrest that his hand had clamped on was making dangerous creaking sounds. It didn’t register that Natasha was already guiding him to one of the seats, her hands cautiously rubbing his arms.

“Bruce? Bruce, come back to me,” she whispered. “Don’t. You’ll get caught--”

“HE WILL IF YOU LET HIM!” he roared, slamming his other hand on the nearest thing beside him. Natasha flinched. “No, Bruce,” she answered quietly, her hands cupping his jaws now, thumbs massaging his cheeks. “He won’t see us. He won’t come in. Right, Vision?”

Vision was already fiddling with the holograms to put up another screen. “Tony has been sparse in accommodating Mr. Ross. He prefers to meet him outside. That’s why he’s taking his time at the lawn.” He looked at them. “Please breathe, Mr. Banner. We could protect you.” Then he turned back to the holograms. “We will try to protect you.”

Bruce closed his eyes and took long, deep breaths. He focused on the warm hands caressing his knuckles, at the beeps of computer commands, willing himself to calm down. He couldn’t go wild right now. Not when he and Natasha needed to lie low.

The uncomfortable silence stretched on until Vision spoke again. “He’s here.” Bruce’s eyes snapped open. With hyperacute awareness, he realized he was staring back at the synthezoid’s unnaturally transparent blue eyes before he stood and ambled back to the window.

Ross had aged from the last time Bruce saw him. His cleanly combed white hair was slightly longer, his mustache was bushier, and he had lost his bulk from lack of physical activity. There were more wrinkles on his face and the skin just below his jaws were slightly sagged now. But as he got off the car he had arrived in and approached Tony, Bruce could see that he had not changed at all. Ross walked like he owned the world. He had no problem looking down at Tony as they talked. He didn’t smile or offer a handshake. He was still the man standing on top of the world.

And he had the reins on the remaining Avengers.

Bruce had to close his eyes and will himself from punching the window. He breathed slowly.

_Not now. Not now. Calm down._

Ross had no absolute power over any of them. And Tony was surely doing something to prevent him from getting just that. He had to trust Tony, even if it was hard to do that right now. Tony was eccentric and he always did things haphazardly, but he had always _tried_. Bruce wanted to believe that he was trying now.

“Bruce,” Natasha’s voice came close from his right. “Ross is gone.”

Bruce took that as his signal. With a nod, he moved away from the window and out of the room. The sight of a smashed vase made him cringe.

Tony was already inside and sinking onto one of the couches in the lounge when he saw Bruce come down from the stairs.

“Oh. You’re here. Natasha’s with you? Great. Wasn’t sure I’d be able to visit.” With a grunt, Tony stood up again, went over to a small cupboard at the corner of the room, and took out, unsurprisingly, a tumbler and a bottle of whiskey. “Ross didn’t see you, did he? Of course he didn’t. Vision made sure of that or we’d have a shitstorm on our hands.” His brow furrowed. “Yeah, better you didn’t come. Maybe we can do this another day somewhere else?”

Bruce shook his head and took his seat on a single sofa. “No, Tony. We’re not doing this another day.”

Tony huffed, already downing a shot. “OK. We talk now. Got it.” He peered at Bruce again and his face scrunched up. “Your hair’s still…” He made a whirling gesture with his hand. Bruce gave him a wry smile.

“I cut my own hair. Don’t change the subject.”

Tony raised his hands in silent surrender. “Right. You wanted to know...what, specifically?”

Bruce rubbed his hands together. “I read about the Accords,” he started, looking up. His friend was staring at him past the rim of his glass, on the way to taking a sip. He continued. “Reasonable on the surface but handcuffs underneath. The Tony I know wouldn’t have folded that easily.”

Tony’s lips twitched before he extended his tumbler to him. “Drink?”

“No, thanks. I’ll just get tea if I feel like it.”

Bruce settled back, giving Tony time to gather himself. Tony sank into the same sofa he had been sitting on earlier, swirling his drink and gulping half of it after. A silence took over between them, more comfortable than expected, while they both looked out through the glass wall and at the vast stretch of land under the night sky. Bruce remembered a time when they used to do this after a day locked up in the laboratory. Tony could surprisingly be quiet at the best of times, particularly when they were resting. He would ramble at intervals, but mostly, he would let Bruce have his peace.

“She blamed me.”

Bruce glanced at Tony, who briefly met his eyes before continuing.

“Miriam Sharpe. Charles’s mother. She blamed me.” Tony downed the rest of his drink. “She was right. I was just fighting for myself. Maybe the years caught up. I got tired. That vision I saw in Sokovia? I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted to end the battle before it started.”

“So we made Ultron,” Bruce added. Tony raised his glass to him before refilling it to the brim.

“So we made Ultron.”

Bruce breathed out. “You never planned for him to be that kind of creation. I wouldn’t have helped you if that was the case. People make mistakes--”

“Mistakes that can kill.” Tony cut him off. “I killed him, Bruce. I conceived Ultron. I wanted Ultron. I designed him. And when we made him into a reality, he listened to _me_. His plan for peace? Human extinction. Great plan. Perfect score.” Before Bruce could answer, Tony rambled on. “I made an oath. Never to make weapons again.” He smiled bitterly. “What do you know? My first real attempt to save the world and it’s the most destructive weapon I ever made.”

“Tony. Ultron came from the other system that _you didn’t make_ ,” Bruce groaned. “You insisted to use JARVIS for Vision. Look how he turned out. Vision wasn’t a mistake.”

“Ultron was.” Tony was tapping a finger on the rim of his glass. “I miscalculated. That’s the point. We miscalculated and it led to Sokovia.”

“So you thought ‘we should be kept in line.’ Natasha told me,” Bruce supplied with a sigh, wondering where the Tony Stark he knew, the man with a heart of iron, had gone.

With a grunt, Tony switched positions to lie down on the sofa. “I was wrong. I get that. I was putting us on a short leash. I could have done better before signing. But they’d given us three days to decide. There’s no way the Accords will be trashed and I wanted to keep the team whole. Rogers didn’t want in. The other’s didn’t. Then the Winter Soldier...and…”

The sound of cracking brought Bruce’s attention to Tony’s glass. “It’s not like I wanted them in the Raft, Bruce. They were _my_ team, too.” His voice had gone quiet and resigned.

“You didn’t listen to my stories about Ross, did you?” Bruce muttered with a shake of his head. This was absurd. “He wanted to dissect me. He’d do the same to the rest of the team. Look at Wanda.”

“Yeah, well, I gave him more credit than I should.” Tony pursed his lips. He downed that full shot in one go. “Traded a healthy share of colorful words with Clint because of that. Always pegged him for the bastard with the witty tongue. Wanda got too much. I’ll get Ross for that one of these days.”

“Think they’ll forgive you?”

Tony snorted. “Forgiveness is overrated.” Bruce didn’t know what his face showed, but Tony’s brows raised when he saw it. “We’re past that stage, Bruce. I don’t expect them to forgive me and I’m not looking for it. What happened to them was never my intention, and I’m sorry Ross ordered it. But they knew what they were getting into. I had to do what I had to. It was all I knew at the time. I could have done something if they told me anything, but they didn’t.”

“The Accords would have stopped you from helping.”

Tony glanced at him as he poured himself another. “Guess so. So instead they try to tell us what was going on when we were gearing up for a rumble in the middle of a fucking airport. I had to find out later what was getting the others so hung up. _Not one of them_ felt the need to inform me until the last second, Bruce. Until we were _fighting_ already.”

“Last resort to stop the fight?” Bruce offered. Tony let out a humorless chuckle.

“It’s never that easy. You know that.”

He nodded. “Nothing ever is.”

“Well, just like everybody, I’ve just about had it with being restricted by the fucking Accords. I had it with the team keeping secrets from me. So against orders, I follow the Brooklyn duo to Siberia. Zemo was there. And I…” Tony stopped. His eyes had gone unfocused as he stared at the view, his hand gently swirling the tumbler, whiskey swishing inside. “He murdered my parents, Bruce. James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Bucky. With his own hands. My father called him by his name and he didn’t budge. Then my mother...” He trailed off and covered his eyes.

Bruce knew that. Steve had told Natasha. “He was just the body, Tony…”

“Their blood’s still on his hands!” Tony snapped. In that moment, Bruce had a glimpse of the relatives of his own victims and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Am I the same?” he asked quietly. When he looked at Tony again, the other man was staring at him. “Am I, as the Other Guy, liable for all the things I’ve done?” It was not that he didn’t feel guilty of his sins, but Tony had been one of the few people who understood that he never meant to do those things. If Tony couldn’t understand that with Barnes because it had been his own blood on the Winter Soldier’s hands, what if it had been Bruce who did it?

Tony raised his glass to his mouth, only to set it on the center table and cover his eyes again. “I’m sorry, Bruce. But I don’t know anymore. They were my parents…”

“And he was being controlled…”

Silence again.

“...And Rogers kept it from me.”

Bruce couldn’t exactly reason with that. He could imagine how torn Steve must have felt, knowing Bucky had killed Tony’s parents, and wanting to tell but not wanting to at all. Steve must have been afraid he’d break so many bonds with Tony, or that Tony would have forever kept a grudge against Bucky. But Bruce could also imagine the feeling of betrayal of having the truth hidden. Especially one as important as that.

“What would you have done if he did tell you?” he asked.

Tony looked out the glass wall again. Such frequent lags in response was so un-Tony. Bruce didn’t know what to make of it. “I don’t know. Maybe something a little less bloody than Siberia.” He shrugged and reached for his drink again. “I’d probably regret it if I killed him. Or not. Who knows? At least I don’t have one more body count for my sins. Not that it changes anything. You know that Zemo guy?”

Oh. Right. The biggest factor. The master mind, and… “Sokovian spy. His family died during Ultron.”

Tony gestured to him with the hand holding his glass, his index and middle fingers out. “It all boils down to making Ultron. The Accords and Zemo. They were all from that mistake.” He smiled, mirthless and flat. “Story of my life, Bruce. I fuck things up. I destroy lives. I don’t want any of you in this anymore. You can spend the night here but tomorrow, you go. Take Natasha with you and leave. I’ll feel better if you’re out in the desert or even stranded out at sea. Anywhere but here.”

Bruce stared at Tony, not really believing--was this really Tony Stark?

“You think we’ll just do that?”

Tony peered at him with a look that told him how ridiculous the question had been. “Of course you will. You have to save yourself.” And suddenly, the billionaire was standing, tumbler and bottle in his hands, and walking to the door. “Tell the big guy hi for me. Missing his angry greenness. Not the punches. They still hurt even with the armor.” Then he was gone.

Bruce turned to the landscape again.

It had never been simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone figured out if Nat and Peter also signed the Accords? They did fight for Team Iron Man, after all.
> 
> Also posted in my [tumblr.](http://illusorycrystal.tumblr.com/post/145761575250/differences-and-viewpoints-bruce-i)


	4. Steve - I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days pass by.
> 
> They wait for that person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much to say about this but I'll admit it was so hard for me to sympathize with Steve.
> 
> I will bite that BARF bait.
> 
> Credits to my friend, who sadly doesn't have an account here, for providing the starter paragraphs for the fic and for balancing out my pro-Tony attitude.

Steve didn't particularly want to stay in Wakanda. Neither did he want to leave. If he was honest with himself, he'd say he didn't know what to do anymore, which was a first. But despite being honest (mostly-- we'll come back to that) to other people, Steve Rogers liked to lie to himself. 'Sure I can handle bullies' and 'I'll make it into the army somehow'. Sometimes it worked out, sometimes it didn't. Sometimes it kept him going, and Steve liked to call it determination. This time, the lie was 'I'm fine'.

He wasn't totally idle. He sketched and doodled (Wakandan landscapes, portraits, a boy on a pony ride going in circles...). He volunteered as a firefighter once in a while. Things might have changed drastically in his life, but one thing remained the same – he liked to help out. Wakandan people might not like the Avengers much, but they were fine with the foreign nobody who kind of looked familiar (he hoped the new facial hair and tan could disguise him for a while). He was only too glad to have something to do.  
  
Occasionally he would go up to T'challa's palace. The previous king had installed a laboratory wing for his son, and Bucky's chamber was in that facility, in a room that didn't see much use except for storage. If they needed to study him, the scientists would just roll his chamber out. So it was just him and his frozen friend.  
  
A lot of the time Steve would talk. It was unlikely Bucky could hear him, but he needed a sound board. He supposed it said a lot about him that he preferred to converse with an unresponsive friend over talking with Sam. Lately, Sam kept giving him a look that he suspected was borne from experience counseling veterans. He dreaded to think that he was starting to look like one of Sam’s clients and he’d rather not find out. He wanted to believe that he wasn’t that far gone to the point he needed counselling.

Maybe that was a lie as well. Lies tend to pile one on top of another, until what used to be a very simple sketch of a view becomes a convoluted scenery of complex strokes, until what could be still-life painting becomes abstract.

_“I just don’t like bullies.”_

Putting on a brave face and displaying an unshakeable spirit used to work for him. He believed in people and they believed in him. It was a two-person road in which he never failed to find a comrade he could always rely on. But in the period that followed the team’s nesting in Wakanda, Steve realized that it was more of him being found by just the right people. Stumbling around with just a sort of stubbornness, determinedly holding onto his moral values, he had nothing to give but everything to risk. They followed him.

The relief that had overcome him when it was all over was like diving into the clear waters of the Pacific after a day of hard training – cool and free, without fear of solid impact as the water cushioned the fall. He had saved Bucky, their friends were out of the Raft, and he was free of his burden of the shield. He had stood his ground; he refused to sign the Accords, and up to the last moment he held on to his belief. Peggy would have been proud of him.

But then Clint had left for his family, muttering about, “Fucking Stark opened his damn mouth, now I have to move them.” Wanda had been distant ever since they left the Raft. Bucky had chosen to go back to cryostasis because he was scared of himself. Scott was always staring at the sunset, holding a photo of a little girl every time. Sam had become a wanderer of the Wakandan streets. Natasha had disappeared after seeing them off in Wakanda.

The moment of triumph soon gave way to a sense of loss. The water he had dived into later fell away, leaving him in the air. On the surface, everyone was fine, but no one had left the dispute (he refused to call it a war) unscathed. And he, for all his tough words and brave facade, did not know where to start.

He had told Bucky that he would deal with his friends’ imprisonment later on, but breaking out the team wouldn’t have been possible without Natasha’s guidance and Tony’s underhanded tactics. They hadn’t let him down even at the end, choosing to go against the law to break the team out. Steve thought that with the letter and the display of cooperation, Tony had forgiven him.

But Tony never contacted him after.

Steve guessed he shouldn’t be surprised that Tony had not done anything of the sort. It wasn’t like there were many things that Tony was incapable of taking on alone. But Steve had to admit that he was expecting him to call. It was true that they had made their choices and it had led to this scenario of a fractured team, every member of which was nursing sore wounds. But with the olive branches that they had each showed each other – Tony with the security breach and him with the package – he thought it would be all right between the two of them. He had carried that hope with the package, at least. But, with every day that passed without a sign of contact from Tony, Steve was growing to believe that the help had been temporary.

So one evening, as Steve turned on the television in his guest room and was greeted by the live news of Iron Man going into a hijacked airliner alone, the last piece in the jigsaw puzzle of uncertain dread finally clicked into place.

The Avengers were no more. The world had lost its best protectors.

Steve had stood his ground, refused to compromise where he couldn’t. He decided against the Accords and chose to retire instead of be controlled. In the wake of that dispute, in the face of his buddy’s life and freedom in danger, Steve finally went against the law and took matters into his own hands. The decision had led to a quarrel among the team he had grown to love as a family. He thought it would permanently be broken, until Tony came to them willing to put everything past them. It seemed like the tunnel was ending, but then the guilt he had been carrying for over a year was shoved into his face.

_“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?”_

Not only had Captain America lost faith in the system, he had also let a friend down.

He had lost his right to carry the shield and his team sank with him.

Now, there were only a couple who could come out and serve the Avengers’ purpose, and he could only see one of them in the field.

Steve sat down on the sofa, eyes trained on the television. Rhodey was out of commission, of course, but where was Vision?

The sound of knocking drew him out of reverie and Steve turned to the door. T’Challa was clad in the formal Wakandan attire, looking regal but slightly weary. The previous king’s sudden death had thrown the kingdom into chaos and from the few times Steve had seen of T’Challa, the latter was up to neck straightening matters out with the Council. A small part of him had the inkling that the presence of foreigners was less than welcome, especially if those foreigners were the Avengers, but he was reluctant to know how much the Council knew. It did not seem appropriate to ask T’Challa for more information than what he was ready to share.

“Your Highness,” Steve greeted with a brief bow, standing up. “Please, come in. Is there something you need?”

“He has been doing well,” the king remarked, walking into the room..

“Huh? What?” Steve turned to the television when T’Challa nodded to it. His face warmed and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh. Yeah. Just turned it on, actually.”

“You are worried about him. That is not something to be ashamed of.” T’Challa was smiling when Steve glanced at him. His face just burned up more. “I apologize. I noticed your preoccupation with the news when I entered.”

“Well, he’s still my friend,” Steve gave in, sitting back down and turning back to the television. “Has he said anything?”

“Not much.” T’Challa stopped at the side of the couch. “He has been busy dealing with the aftermath, while I have been busy with the… transition.” His smile faded a bit.

“Oh.” Steve trailed off. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” T’Challa smiled again, though this time he looked unsure “I did not come here for that. But I did come for something that concerns you and Mr. Barnes.”

“What is it?”

“My researchers found an interesting video from MIT. It was posted a little more than a month ago, by one of the students documenting a convention honoring their alumni. One of the speakers was Mr. Stark and he exhibited something that might be of some help to Mr. Barnes’s recovery.” T’Challa handed Steve a tablet, where a clip of Tony’s speech was playing. “I’m aware that the topic is sensitive to you, but the device he showed there…“

Steve watched as young Tony saw his parents off for the last time, surprised with the terse and stern Howard Stark, very different from the Howard he knew. But more than that, the broken face of the young Tony as his parents left him for the Bahamas – _so near to Christmas_ – was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

And the memory was suddenly gone while the present Tony, more subdued than usual, took off the glasses rendering the scene. The speech that followed…

Steve didn’t finish the video. With a sigh, he handed the tablet back, still absorbing the scene he saw and the things Tony said.

When T’Challa spoke again, his tone was quieter. “I am sorry, Captain, but I felt that I had to show you. Mr. Barnes was conditioned via overstimulation by electroshock which we believe targeted his hypothalamus. Mr. Stark stated that his project manipulates the same site as a therapeutic method to get over traumatic memory. I am not saying that we absolutely need his help, but it could save us much time and effort if we have it. We may be able to speed up your friend’s recovery.”

“You think he’ll agree?”

“He’s still your friend, isn’t he?”

Steve turned back to the TV. It was all about Iron Man apprehending the terrorists efficiently and with minimal casualty, for which the news anchor commented that the Accords so far was proving to be effective.

_“So was I.”_

“I don’t think he sees me as one now.”

“It will not hurt to try. Have faith.” With that, T’Challa tucked his tablet away. “I’m meeting him in two days. I will let you know as soon as he comes to a decision.”

“Thank you,” Steve answered. As the king walked back to the door, he called, “Your Highness?”

T’Challa paused at the door. “Call me T’Challa. The title makes me uncomfortable.”

Steve briefly smiled at that. “You’ll sign the Accords?”

T’Challa gestured to the window providing a view of the city. “Of course. I support it as much as my father did. Our country demands protection from individuals with powers that can rival a god’s.”

“What about what you’re giving up?”

“That is why Mr. Stark and I are drafting changes to it. To ensure the protection of our own interests and independence. I do not like diplomacy, but often we must do what we do not want to do to get things done.” T’Challa made to leave, but looked at Steve again. “I hope you understand that laws have only become much fairer over the course of history. Good night, Captain.”

Suffice to say, Steve couldn’t sleep a wink that night.

***

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you finally lost your marbles.” Sam heaved himself onto the jagged edge of the rock Steve was sitting on while they took a break from their morning run along the mountainside overlooking the capital. “I heard from he who likes cats. You cool with it?”

When Sam had asked what happened in Siberia, there was nothing Steve could do to keep the truth from him. The others had become curious, too, and Steve knew they had the right to know after what they went through to help him and Bucky.

_Sam whistled. “That wasn’t cool, man.”_

_“I know,” he answered. “I just… I didn’t know how to tell him.”_

_Sam shrugged. “He came to the Raft asking where you were. I thought maybe if we HAD told him beforehand what the plan was…”_

_Steve sighed. “Same thought’s been keeping me awake.”_

_“That guy? He’s a loose mouth. You can’t trust him.” Clint dropped onto a seat. “He would’ve blabbed the second you’d told him.”_

_“You know that’s not true.”_

_“Excuse me? Right, you weren’t there. You know what he did, Steve? You know what he said back there in that hellhole? That I had a wife and kids. Yeah, Steve, you heard that right. He went and let it out. Why? Because he had to prove his point that we’d done the most stupid thing ever.” Clint slammed his fist on the window. “Slip of the tongue, my ass.”_

_Leaning against the wall, Steve ran his hands through his hair. Did Tony know what he had done?_

_“It’s not your fault.” Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Stark’s always been a dick. Doesn’t know how to handle information, if you ask me.”_

He’s not the only one, _Steve thought. “I kept his parents’ murder from him, Sam.”_

_“That...is equally harsh.”_

_“You and Stark,” Clint piped up again; the glare he was directing at Steve did not feel like purely anger for Tony alone. “You and fucking Stark need to know when to use words.”_

_Steve could only grimace at that._

When Natasha explained in full detail the hell that Ross had put Tony through, giving him a time limit before sending the military after them, Steve realized the position they had put Tony in. He had wanted to say, “I told you so;” he wanted to slam Ross’s face in with a fist; but in the end, he was still partly responsible for Tony’s dilemma. He had not wanted to go against the law, but the law had turned into chains. It was the only way he could think of doing at the time.

Steve took a gulp from his jug. “The last time we thought he wouldn’t help, things got out of hand. He still came to us, didn’t he? But this time, it’s Bucky and I don’t know if Tony’s gotten over what HYDRA made him do.”

“T’Challa thinks he’ll bend. I say it takes a saint to do that.”

Steve smiled wryly. “Stark’s not a saint.”

“No, he ain’t.” Sam shook his head. “And frankly, I don’t have high expectations.”

A few days later, their anxieties were disproved yet again. However, when T’Challa told them the news, there was something off about it.

Wait, no. It was not “something was off.”

_“He agreed to help, but it was not easy to convince him.”_

It was, “Everything was not all right.”

***

Wakandan mornings were a sight to behold. From the terrace that was connected to the grand dining hall, Steve could see the gardens of the palace -- thick copse of fruit trees interspersed with rows of flowering bushes and vineries, a rainbow of colors that covered hectares of land. After his runs, Steve preferred to have his meals while watching the gardeners tend to the plants. Sometimes, he would come down and help out with the heavy lifting. At other times, he would ask some of the gardeners for lessons on farming. He already had several pages in his sketchbook of the gardens in the morning, noon, and twilight.

“Stark is coming, isn’t he?”

It was the first time Wanda had initiated a conversation with him since they arrived in Wakanda. She stood beside him, setting down a glass of water on the hedge.

“I still cannot forgive him completely for my parents,” she murmured. “But I do not blame him for Ultron, nor can I hold it against him for what he’s done after.”

Steve nodded. “We made our choices. We thought differently.”

“I blamed him for our imprisonment at the Raft. We thought he had allowed it. But it was Ross. It was all Ross. So I do not blame Stark now for what happened.”

Steve let out a breath. Wanda had gotten the worst when they were taken to the Raft, and again, there was a part of him that felt that he was responsible for it.

“Wanda… I’m sorry for… making you go through that.”

She smiled. “You needed my help. I don’t regret giving it.” She laid a hand on his. “We all agreed to that plan.”

“And you don’t blame Tony,” Steve repeated, somehow feeling lighter. “So you’re fine with this. No hard feelings?”

Wanda shrugged. “I hope he brings Vision with him.”

***

When Tony’s private jet landed in the Wakandan palace garden, just a month after that fateful day in Siberia, Steven Rogers was no more a star-spangled man nor was he a man with a plan. Sam was right beside him, telling him earlier that a buffer was needed for this to go through peacefully, though Steve had the feeling that Sam also thought he needed some kind of support, if the occasional “You still there, Cap?” questions during their wait were any indication.

He couldn’t figure out what the next move was, now that the man who had the most pivotal role in changing his life was here.

Still rooted to the spot, arms at his sides, eyes squinted under the bright Wakandan sun – that was how Tony found him at the entrance to the foyer. The other man stilled at the bottom of the stairs, dark-tinted glasses blocking his eyes from view; it annoyed Steve how Tony always found a way to conceal himself – sunglasses, Iron Man’s faceplate – always hiding his big, expressive brown eyes from everyone. For all of Tony’s sharpness, wit, and sarcasm, those eyes said everything.

His ears, thank heavens for super hearing, caught Tony muttering under his breath, “It’s too early for this shit.” Well, Steve wasn’t thanking the heavens for that, but at least he heard what he needed to.

And then Tony was coming up the stairs with the red and gold suitcase in hand, no smile in sight, not even a businessman’s smile, and Steve wondered if that was better than Tony turning the encounter into a business meeting.

That was a stupid question.

“I’m guessing His Feline Highness had an emergency and he left you to babysit since it’s your innocent friend and all,” Tony was speaking in undertone and not even looking at him, like he only had half the mind to talk and was finding the flowers more interesting. “Where is the beast?”

Steve gritted his teeth. So Tony hadn’t forgiven him. Beside him, Sam was muttering something along the lines of, “More of a little bugger, if you ask me.”

“You don’t want to do this at all, do you?” he returned, already regretting T’Challa’s proposal. But if Tony didn’t think it was worth it to come here for Bucky, why would he be here at all?

“You know, for once, we’re thinking on the same page.” This time, Tony rounded on him, and they were close enough for him to see a bit behind the sunglasses, see the hate he saw when he ripped off the helmet – “Just tell me where he is.”

Steve glanced at the Iron Man suitcase, the onslaught of memories from the last time he saw it giving him second thoughts. The hand around the handle tightened at the same time he nodded to it, “You want to set that down before we go?” It wasn’t that he didn’t – okay, he didn’t trust Tony to be any less vengeful, and he didn’t want a repeat of their last meeting.

Tony’s mouth twitched. “Don’t start, Rogers.” Then, turning to Sam, “Where’s the Winter Soldier?”

Before Steve could retort that his friend’s name was James Barnes, he felt a strong grip on his arm and turned to Sam, who shook his head and gestured Tony in with a thumb. “We’ll take you to him,” Sam calmly said.

“Perfect! See, that’s how you treat a house guest.” Tony sidestepped them and went inside. “Oh, and I want coffee ready in five minutes!”

Once he was out of earshot, Sam let go. “He’s being an ass,” he muttered, shaking his head again.

“Why’d you stop me?” Steve huffed.

With an incredulous look at him, Sam lightly punched his arm. “Did Siberia not happen? Come on, Running Man.”

Steve watched his friend follow Tony inside, hoping, just as he always did, that everything would turn out fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted in my [tumblr.](http://illusorycrystal.tumblr.com/post/146488147670/differences-and-viewpoints-steve-i)
> 
> Friend's [tumblr.](http://risartfarts.tumblr.com/)


	5. Tony - III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's two members coming back.
> 
> But just when he thought he could move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now I’m just having fun. I don’t know where I’m going. Actually, I do. Somewhat. But let’s have Tony do some partial healing for now--well, not in this one. Chopped up the content because it’s just getting too long. Follow-up to this will come out soon. Maybe.
> 
> If anyone's wondering, no, the chapters are not all in sync. Let's leave Steve for now. I'm probably going to be hated for this. Let the flames rain down. *puts up barriers* But honestly? I don't think Tony of MCU can just forgive and forget that easily. And yes, T'Challa might have been a bit forceful. *shrugs and hides*

There was a reason he loved machines.

See, robots and AIs were measurable and limited no matter how much they evolved. Well, _his_ AIs could learn. He took pride in making them that way. JARVIS had been an efficient butler and FRIDAY was a fast learner. Dum-E, U, and Butterfingers were slow but great listeners. They each had a unique personality and a unique way of responding, but Tony could always predict them.

Ultron had been the exception. He should have looked into that program more closely before he used it. Tony had trusted JARVIS’s ability to keep any program at bay and had not predicted the alien program to be malicious. Considering it was from a weapon that the God of Lies and Mischief had originally wielded, he should have thought twice. But it probably wouldn’t have even come to the conclusion it got if it hadn’t listened to him.

Again, miscalculations.

But that wasn’t the point. The point was that it was _easier_ to be with computers and machines. They were so much simpler: command, execute. Their arguments, he could always override. They were just codes with personalities. And they always made sense. But real people? Living, breathing humans? They were entirely another thing. Completely different.

He knew he shouldn’t complain. He was known as a complete jackass who did what he wanted, no objections. _Iron Man, yes; Tony Stark, no._ Iron Man followed orders, while Tony Stark partied, drank, and flipped authority off. Iron Man fought for the welfare of others; Tony Stark lived for himself. Iron Man would not make the mistake of creating a genocidal android, but Tony Stark would not even think of talking it over with the team.

But wasn’t one reckless, careless individual enough? When he had asked Fury for “his game,” he had expected him to ready some connections for future use. He had not expected _Natasha_ to come bouncing back like she was not on the hit list. Ross was still breathing down Tony’s neck for his MIA status during the breach. He would most definitely be wanting to wring Natasha’s neck for her what she did at the airport.

“T’Challa already vouched for me,” was her reply when he objected to their presence in the kitchen the next day. For the first time in a long while, the air was filled with the smell of fried eggs and pancakes instead of strong Eastern spices. “You know that. And this was really useful,” Natasha added, handing him the wristwatch he lent her along with a freshly brewed mug of coffee. “You didn’t tell me you added a video feed feature.”

Damn it. He didn’t think she would catch that. “How’d you find out?”

Natasha simply raised an eyebrow at him. Tony deigned to persist with the question, turning to Bruce who shrugged and smiled. “I’m in harmony with the Other Guy. I think I should update myself with the modern world.”

“And how long are you going to stay?”

“That…” Bruce hummed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Still thinking about it.”

Tony did not have the energy to argue against their life choices. Natasha could kill him with a flick of her wrist, Bruce could pound him to a pulp, and he was nursing a pounding headache. He did not want to don the armor on so early in the morning with a hangover. “You haven’t signed the Accords,” he said, snatching the sandwich that Bruce was making. “So you get to be my adorable freeloaders. This is good.” Tony studied the stolen food. “What’s in it?”

“Ham, egg, and cheese with some spice,” Bruce shrugged. “Nothing special. You’re just not eating right.”

“Overruled. Vision brings me meals every day.”

“Meals you forget to touch, I hear,” Bruce countered, pointing at Tony’s hand. “You’re welcome.”

Tony huffed, took another bite, and nearly let out a relieved groan when he tried the coffee. Natasha knew just how he liked his coffee. He had not meant to drink himself silly last night, and today he had to meet T’Challa after a visit with R&D. While going to work drunk was a fantastic game he used to play with Rhodey, the headache was a killer.

“Nat,” he called, turning to her. “Since you volunteered to be my slave…”

“You make it sound so dirty.”

“Can’t say otherwise,” Tony agreed. Natasha raised an eyebrow and he continued, “You heard Rogers. These people have agendas. The Accords as they are now, these guys have full control over us. They can hide anything from us. They will. They know me. They know what I can do. But they don’t know you’re with me. I need connections. I need to make sure they’re doing right by us. Officially, you’re not an Avenger. Unofficially, you’re my intel. Can you do that?”

Natasha tilted her head. “What, hacking isn’t good enough for you?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “FRIDAY has access to anything in cyber world, but the things outside of IT, I need you for that. You focus on gathering as much intel as you can. Background checks on the panel first, dig up dirt on assignments after. You let me know if they’re hiding something. Tell me if there’s another story.”

Natasha hummed thoughtfully. “Even if we do have the big picture, the Accords dictate that you follow orders regardless of conditions.”

“Contingencies,” Tony answered. “I’ll adapt. Our priority is to prevent another case like the Winter Soldier from happening.” As he finished his sandwich, he noticed Bruce and Natasha staring at him. “What?”

Bruce shook his head, his fluffy gray hair bouncing with every move. “Nothing. I just thought… You mentioned him,” he finished, his gaze wary. Tony frowned in confusion, wondering what Bruce meant, until it clicked.

“Oh,” he said, turning to his coffee, fingers tightening around the mug. “Yeah. Him.” That guy.

“Tony?”

“I have to go,” he muttered, downing his coffee. “Meeting T’Challa in New York. Don’t burn down the house. FRIDAY, orient Natasha for me.”

“Of course.”

Tony was out of the compound in record time. He might have done a full-blown confession with Bruce last night, but he was not ready to do it a second time sober and with a full schedule.

***

T’Challa had offered to help with the amendments, mentioning that while he supported the provisions, they needed to protect their individuality as well. But they had both been busy dealing with the aftermath of Zemo’s terrorism and had not met much at all.

Today was supposed to be the first time they were to discuss the changes they wanted. However, they had not even been fifteen minutes in the same room when Tony noticed that T’Challa kept looking at him like he wanted to say something but was deciding against it. He thought it was his imagination at first, and had ignored it for most of their meeting, but the stare had grown more urgent the closer they got to the end.

“Have I caught your eye, sweetheart? Let me tell you now, I’m quite the catch,” he winked, unable to hold it in any longer. They were almost done, anyway. “Billionaire genius, fights in a self-made suit of destruction, number four in the Forbes list of top fifteen billionaires. Before that: Some guys want their identities to remain confidential. Not everyone has a whole country worshipping us like saviors, Felix.” _Parker gets shit for what he does. He’s still what, fifteen?_ “FRIDAY, make a note. We buy Daily Bugle first thing tomorrow.”

“I’ll have the estimate ready, Boss.”

“You’re a peach, girl.”

“One of the provisions requires us to give personal information,” T’Challa murmured, decidedly ignoring the brief digression in topic. If he was annoyed by Tony’s nickname for him, he didn’t show it.

“But we get more dangerous enemies specifically targeting us,” Tony supplied.

“Experience is an excellent teacher. News of the Mandarin’s attack on your mansion reached us.”

“Ain’t I famous?” A weary look. Tony grinned and continued, “We don’t have a problem sharing our identities with each other. Well, most of us. Others are selective.” He hummed thoughtfully to himself. Peter had not trusted him at the start and the government was as trustworthy as a cardboard box with crayon writing.

“Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“May I interrupt this conversation?”

“Hm? What?” And there was that look on T’Challa’s face again. Strange. “What’s got the Wakandan king all tongue-tied?” Tony finally asked, still writing down notes, encircling points, crossing out others… “What does the magnificent Black Panther find difficult to say to me? Look, honey, if you want to go out on a date, let’s have dinner tonight. I’m single and open, you’re a looker. It should work”

T’Challa gave him another weary look. “I’m afraid I will have to pass on the offer.”

“Don’t say I didn’t ask.” Tony grinned.

“I’ll make sure to remember.” T’Challa straightened in his seat. Tony had already waited a few beats of silence that when T’Challa spoke again, he had gone back to analysing the Accords. “I was informed that you had once made a therapeutic device to help a person recover from trauma.”

“BARF,” Tony automatically replied. He really should work on that name. “And? What does that have anything to do with you?”

“It’s not for me,” T’Challa admitted, causing Tony to pause. “It’s for a friend.” He had taken on a careful tone and of course that was all Tony needed to know who this friend was. “I’m helping him recover from a condition brought on by repeated trauma inflicted to his brain.”

Tony looked at T’Challa from the corner of his eye. The Wakandan king was staring at him, primly waiting for his response. Too bad for him, Tony did not feel like sharing his invention for that. He could not even believe that T’Challa would ask _him_ to lend his technology to _them_. “Is this a joke?” he replied. “Don’t you have your own set of scientists over there? They can deal with him.”

T’Challa nodded briskly, folding his hands on the table. “Of course, but seeing as you have already laid out the groundwork, we thought it would save much time and effort if we had your knowledge and expertise.”

Tony had stopped writing by now. “That science project has sailed,” he said. “I made it a long time ago. I moved on. Not planning to go back to a rejected design.”

“Not even to help a friend?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Which friend?”

T’Challa stared at him with an expression of pure disbelief. When Tony ignored him and turned back to the papers, T’Challa persisted, “You must be fully aware by now. Zemo had only tried to tear the Avengers apart.” Now that struck a chord.

“It doesn’t change the fact that my parents died by his hands,” Tony strained. “And that _his friend_ thought it was a _mercy_ to spare me the knowledge.”

“Stark,” T’Challa cut in with a quietness that was more of warning than submission. “That was not James Barnes.”

“Not James Barnes?” Tony’s dropped the Accords onto the table. That was _his mother_ that metal beast was strangling! “Refresh my memory. Just _whose arm_ was it that choked my mom’s life out of her?”

T’Challa’s voice was a cautious hush. “Are you so blinded by grief that you refuse to direct your anger to those who deserve it?”

“I didn’t hear you spouting that crap when you thought he bombed your old man.”

A hand clamped down on his arm, T’Challa’s usually calm face now a torrent of controlled anger. “Is this your way of saying no?” Tony held back a flinch when T’Challa’s grip tightened. “I had no idea about the Winter Soldier program beforehand. It was not my best time, I have to agree. My rage blinded me and I was consumed by revenge. I failed to see the bigger picture. Because of that, I almost took an innocent man’s life.” He took a deep breath and lowered his gaze, but did not loosen his grip one bit, and his voice softened. “I understand your grief, Tony Stark. My father’s death was the consequence of a vendetta. But when I was given the choice, I decided that there was a better way to channel my anger.”

When T’Challa let go, there was a red handprint on the spot he had been holding. _That’s going to bruise,_ Tony thought, subtly rubbing at the mark. “You got a mean hold,” he muttered. “You should lay off on the protein. What kind of training do you do?”

T’Challa sighed, looking more frustrated with every second that passed. “I was hoping you would take a chance to make amends.”

“I _am_ making amends,” Tony ground out. What else was he doing right now? “I’m fixing what I destroyed. That includes a lot of things, loads of things, I can’t even list them down. But that doesn’t include those popsicles. They’re not my problem anymore. Rogers made it not my problem when he chose to save his buddy’s image over telling me that my parents were fucking _murdered_.”

A tense silence passed between them until T’Challa broke eye contact and retreated in his seat. “I am sorry,” he said. “It was inconsiderate of me to ask you this.”

“You think?” Tony huffed and turned back to the documents, but he found himself unable to concentrate on the task at hand. He knew. He was fully aware that Barnes had not done it of his own accord. The moment he found out, he had seen red and would have killed Barnes on the spot if Rogers had not stopped him. And he was wrong for doing that. But despite that…

“His letter.”

It was so quiet he nearly didn’t catch it. Tony looked up, narrowing his eyes at the king. “What?”

“His letter,” T’Challa repeated, shoulders straight but head lowered, rigid like stone in his seat, like someone who could not admit defeat just yet. “He wrote you a letter, didn’t he?”

Tony paused. So T’Challa knew about it. _Of course._ How else would Steve manage to mail it without leaving a trail back to himself?

“Have you read it?” T’Challa turned to him. “Before you fully refuse my request, read it again. Please. I go back to Wakanda in three days. Until then, I will wait for your answer.”

Tony briskly nodded, more than glad to focus his attention back on the Accords. Once they were done, he paid T’Challa a terse farewell and went straight back to the compound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted in my [tumblr.](http://illusorycrystal.tumblr.com/post/147342765640/differences-and-viewpoints-tony-iii)


	6. Tony - IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of alcohol and internal conflicts.
> 
> And a visit from a certain redhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ: I did not expect that I'd be getting subscribers for this. Like, guys, are you looking for fanfiction torture? Because I'm probably going in circles and dragging this out slower than a snail crawling up a tree trunk. AND I'm probably going out of character MCU-wise with an overused plot device. AND other stories with same plot device have long-since ended and I'm still at the start, not to mention I'm so sloooooow on updating. AND I haven't fully pictured this fanfic's future. Okay? I think I just want to say THANK YOU for subscribing and putting up with me. Or even reading it. Just... Thank you for reading and subscribing.
> 
> I swear, Tony’s face while he read the letter in the movie was like, “WTF are you talking about, Rogers?” Also, warning for slow burn this chapter. Pretty much just two characters here: Natasha and Tony. I’m sorry if it’s boring.
> 
> Tony’s a good guy underneath an ass of an attitude. But even a good guy can be susceptible to carrying a grudge.
> 
> Just in case, please don’t hate on Steve or T’Challa. Or Natasha? PLEASE? Medicine can sometimes be bitter. I keep saying I have to do better with Steve, but I just haven't gotten to him yet.
> 
> One last thing: Believe it or not, I FOUND THIS HARD TO WRITE. Kept deleting and rewriting and rewriting and... I just died. So there. *bows*

He woke up with a start, the strong scent of alcohol stinging his nostrils and the desire to throw up assaulting his senses. He wasn’t sure where the nausea was coming from—the drunken stupor or the sound of Maria choking or Howard’s pleas or a shield coming down—but he did want the spinning to stop so he could figure out the time and why it was so dark.

It was a second before he realized that the front of his shirt was drenched and the tumbler he had been drinking from was not in his hand anymore. It took another second for him to remember reading Steve’s letter over and over before passing out. But what he was sure of since waking up was that the lights had been on when he lost consciousness. So that meant someone had checked up on him.

“What are you doing, Tony?” Natasha’s quiet voice echoed in the silence at the same time he felt a towel against his chest. Tony tried to sit up, only to collapse back down when his arms refused to cooperate.

“Gathering data on how much alcohol it takes to throw me into a coma,” he answered, looking for the spy’s silhouette in the darkness. “To what do I owe the pleasure of the Widow’s visit?”

“After last night, I put FRIDAY on alert if you do something stupid.” He felt Natasha move away, but the sound of creaking told him that she had chosen to sit on the center table. “This counts as stupid.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a bachelor.” Tony tried to sit again. A hand stretched out to help him up and a glass of water was pressed into his hands. “I don’t like being handed things,” he murmured even as he took a sip. With the cold liquid trickling down his throat, the prickling dryness eased. He let his head fall back on the backrest. “Do I get spoiled tonight?”

“A simple thanks is enough,” Natasha replied. “I don’t sit overgrown babies.”

“You’re doing that now.”

“Only because this one doesn’t have another babysitter.”

Once upon a time, Natasha had not been a necessary component in the “Prevent Tony Stark from Dying of Alcohol Poisoning” protocol. He would rather not dwell on the events that had led to that. Not right now. Pepper was still his CEO and she was safe. They still talked business and that was enough for him. _We’re close enough._ “I’m touched.” Tony took another sip when he felt the croak in his voice coming back. “It’s not every day a beautiful redhead comes in the middle of the night to make sure I don’t die.”

The towel moved to his face, wiping off the dried mix of sweat and scotch. Tony briefly closed his eyes, remembering a time when another redhead used to do this to him. “You’re unusually tender tonight,” he purred. “Did I do something right for once?”

The movement ceased on his forehead. For a brief moment, Tony thought Natasha had left, probably deciding that she didn’t want to contend with his drunkenness. But he could distinctly feel the weight of her hand behind the towel and her eyes gazing at him through the dark. Then there was a small shift through the towel, a light rubbing. “It’s not what you did, but rather what you need.”

The towel fell away, and Natasha was soon settling beside him, their arms squeezed together, her head on his shoulder. His eyesight had finally adjusted to the dark, and he could see that the blinds were down over the glass walls, the faint twinkle of stars peeking through the gaps. The faint hum of the air conditioner echoed from one side of the room, though he could barely feel the cool air because of the heat from the scotch.

“When I made your assessment, you were a complete mess,” Natasha finally spoke, her voice calm and her words slow but clear. The quiet sincerity with which she spoke startled him. “I said Tony Stark was not necessary to the team. You proved me wrong. Iron Man is the armor, Tony Stark is the heart. You didn’t give up the armor when you could. You gave us all a place to come home to. You made all this—” a hand waving in the dark “—possible when you didn’t have to. You act like you just do what you want but it’s always your heart making the decisions. Now you’re a complete mess and I want to know why. That armor is useless without the heart.”

Tony never thought he would see the day Natasha would speak to him with such openness, like an older sister comforting a brother. Much less did he ever think it possible that she saw him the way she had just described him. “Just one time, Nat,” he managed to say, still in mild disbelief. “It won’t happen again.” An excuse made by a person in denial.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re looking down on me,” Natasha deadpanned, making Tony smile in defeat. He should have known better than to lie half-heartedly to a spy. But then, she had never cornered him for something personal until tonight. Tony’s aversion to emotional talks was not unheard of, but it didn’t mean that he couldn’t lose his footing when they did happen. “You were reading Steve’s letter.”

Tony frowned, drumming his fingers on the armrest. Against his better judgement, he had listened to T’Challa’s plea. As soon as he arrived earlier that night, he had gone to his office and taken the letter with him to his room. But once he opened it again, his brain froze, so much that he had not even thought twice about drowning himself with a bottle of scotch.

“Can we turn on the lights? I thought you were a vampire for a minute there. How can you see in this dark?”

“Magicians don’t reveal their secrets.”

“Touché.”

“I’m still waiting here, Tony.’” As if to prove her point, Natasha encircled her arms around his, but with a gentler voice, followed it with, “You talked to Bruce. Talk to me, too.”

Tony sighed. He didn’t know what Bruce and Natasha were trying to do to him, but this time Natasha didn’t seem intent on letting a simple “I’m fine” work.

Why did T’Challa want him to read that letter? What else was there to understand other than Rogers’s apology? All the rest was an explanation Tony could hardly understand. What did Steve mean with the Avengers being more Tony’s than his? That Steve didn’t fit anywhere? Did Steve think that Tony actually fit in with the team? Last time he checked, everyone had a bone to pick with him. Wasn’t that why he kept pushing the leadership role on Steve? Steve was the one everyone looked up to. He was the natural leader anyone wouldn’t have second thoughts following. How could he even say that he didn’t fit in with the Avengers?

They were not children. The Avengers Initiative was formed as a front line of defense against extraterrestrial attacks. They were a bunch of science freaks who had been brought together to take down a common enemy. _They were not family_. It might have looked like that in the long run, it might have even felt like that, but in the end they would still go their own ways. They could still part when there was a difference in opinions.

“Look, I’m a smart man, Nat, a genius,” Tony finally said. “I understand everything. S-grade prodigy here. Been understanding complex formulas since I was four. But you know what I don’t get? What the fuck Rogers is trying to tell me in that letter of his. What does T’Challa want from me?”

“T’Challa?”

“He told me to read this—” Tony fumbled around for the piece of paper, but it wasn’t in his immediate reach “—where is it, anyway?”

“It’s on the table. What happened, Tony?”

Tony slumped back on the couch, puffing out a breath and clicking his tongue. “He’s trying to psyche me into helping the Soldier. ‘His letter,’ my ass.” He huffed. “Spangles just went on and on about family and trust. The only thing that made sense in that paper is him apologizing. Doesn’t change the fact he lied to me for what, a year? Does T’Challa expect me to just up and forget everything?”

The sound of a sigh. “Are you willing to let this stay between you and him? Are you fine leaving things as they are now?”

“Are you telling me to act like nothing happened, Strawberry Fields?” Tony heatedly hissed in Natasha’s direction.

She squeezed his arm in response. It wasn’t the painful kind of squeeze, but it had enough pressure to interrupt his thinking. “I’m telling you to give him a second chance. I can’t speak for him, but you must understand by now. It’s not easy to confess something like that.”

Tony pursed his lips, a bitter taste climbing up the back of his throat. He itched for another glass of scotch again, but the bottle and the tumbler had obviously been put away. “He could have tried, Natasha,” he forced out. Bruce had made him rethink what happened, and he admitted he went wrong on many things, but what Steve did was something he didn’t think he could forgive. Not yet. “He acted like everything was _normal_. What’s that supposed to mean? He kept the truth to protect his friend, to protect himself. That’s not the Captain America I know.”

Natasha started gentle strokes on the back of his hand, which strangely soothed the growing spike in his nerves. “I can’t answer for him,” she murmured softly. “And I know it’s not easy, but can’t you take his apology to heart? He pretty much can’t do anything else now than send you a letter.”

Tony clicked his tongue. “Well, he did a crappy job of an apology letter, if that’s what it is.” Then the flip phone flashed in his mind, along with Steve’s request to “not change the locks.”

_“If you need me, I’ll be there.”_

He sighed, drumming his fingers on the armrest again. “Let’s say I do take his apology at face value. It doesn’t mean I have to do what T’Challa’s asking. Mind control or not, the Soldier killed them. He…” Tony trailed off. The video loomed at him from the darkness. He was hearing Howard’s call for help, then the sound of crushing bone and spattering blood, and Maria’s gasp for air. And then the Soldier’s remorseless face as he fired at the camera.

_“It wasn’t him, Tony!”_

_“I remember everyone.”_

_Pleading. Choking. Barnes._

In a matter of seconds, Tony was breathing heavily. “I know,” he whispered. “It’s wrong. I know that. It wasn’t him. _I know_. But I don’t care. He killed my mom. Why should I help him?”

_“Help. Please.”_

“I saw them off. They’d have been back Monday.”

_“Howard?!”_

“He beat his face. He fucking beat his face with that piece of trash.”

_“Sergeant Barnes?”_

The sudden clench on his hand jolted him out of his daze. With a jump, Tony jerked his hand back, swinging his head in Natasha’s direction.

“Tony.”

“Natasha.”

There was a pause in which neither of them moved, Tony staring at Natasha’s stock-still figure. What? What was she staring at him for? In an attempt to break the silence, he opened his mouth, but she beat him to it. “You can’t hold on to it.”

He clenched his hands into tight fists, joints popping at the strain of his muscles. “Of course I can.”

“Do you want to?”

Tony closed his mouth. He _had_ to. His mom. His dad. They hadn’t done anything. Maybe Howard did, but Maria didn’t deserve that. They didn’t deserve to die so horribly for whatever the flying fuck Howard must have done for the government. The Winter Soldier was supposed to be Howard’s friend. He was supposed to be a Howling Commando. Captain America’s partner. Not a cold-blooded murderer.

_It wasn’t Barnes._

Tony slumped back on the armrest he had been leaning on. “Bruce… Him and Barnes, they’re similar, he said. They never meant to do any of those things.”

“We all have red in our ledgers,” Natasha whispered.

“And I… I almost killed him, Nat,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand on his face in exasperation, his whole body feeling like a sack of bricks. What kind of sick game was life playing that he had to go through shit like guilt when he was just as mad? Was it part of his punishment for being a Stark? “If Rogers hadn’t been there, I would have. I know it wasn’t his fault. He was brainwashed. But it doesn’t make a difference.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What else can I do to get over it?”

Natasha shifted and a hand settled behind Tony’s nape, lightly pressing, comforting him with a small gesture. “I get it, Tony. I do. I don’t blame you for going at him. You were mad. That was an understandable response. But if you let that anger take control, it might grow into something else. Right now it’s taken root and it’s growing.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at that, even if he couldn’t see her. “Excuse me, but until His Highness presented the topic, I was doing just fine.”

“You still tried to poison yourself.” Arms wrapped around Tony’s head, pulling him to her chest. Memories of his mother and Pepper doing the same thing latched on to his mind. Tony couldn’t help but respond in the same way he always did, letting out a breath and setting his weight on her. Fingers coursed through his hair. “Tony… You think I don’t know you. Maybe I don’t. Not completely. But I can tell you’re not the kind of man to bear grudges. You want to let go, don’t you? You’re mad at yourself because you can’t.” And once more, she was right. Tony did want to let go. The problem was that he _couldn’t_. “What if you don’t ever get over it? I don’t think being passive is going to work this time.”

“And you think doing _that_ is going to help?”

It took a few moments before Natasha replied. “I guess... I just don’t want to see you go down the same road Zemo took. Forgiveness is often hard, Tony. Sometimes, forgiving yourself takes forgiving an enemy. And forgiving an enemy might mean doing something kind for them.”

Doing something kind for Barnes, huh? “Easier said,” he murmured. “I’ll think about it. King Felix can wait all he wants.” Even if the king had only given him three days, Tony could contact him after that. Oh, the advantages of technology.

“Thank you, Tony.” It was so sincere. What was Natasha thanking him for? “By the way...”

“Yeah?”

Natasha combed her fingers through his hair again. Since when did this become a habit of hers? “Do you always wonder if you’re doing the right thing?”

Tony froze, swallowing. “You got a poor sense of humor if you’re gonna take that joke seriously, Nat. Can’t I dramatize my life for fun?”

Natasha did not seem keen on meeting his sass that moment. Instead of going along with his attempt to dismiss that slip of his tongue... “Tony. Why do you think Iron Man’s an Avenger?”

_“Iron Man is the armor. Tony Stark is the heart.”_

The next time he realized he had fallen asleep, Tony sat up to see Natasha gone and a blanket draped over him. On the table, beside a glass of water, Steve’s letter was folded neatly, reflecting the bluish glow from the blinds as the first light of day flooded in.

The fact that he had just gotten at least two hours of sleep without dreaming of _anything_ came as a slow shock to him. No dreams of choking voices, a metal arm, or a Vibranium shield—not even the explosive madness to strangle a man to death. It was such a slow but strong impact that by the time Tony finally accepted that he had actually slept peacefully for once, he already had to get up and go visit Rhodey at the institute. Before he left, Bruce forced another sandwich into his hands (“You’ve lost weight.”) and Natasha nodded a goodbye before turning back to the hologram FRIDAY was showing her.

Giving the couple a once-over, Tony left the compound. He wondered if sending them back to a secluded community was the right thing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted in my [tumblr.](http://illusorycrystal.tumblr.com/post/149121981565/differences-and-viewpoints-ch-6-tony-iv)


	7. Steve - II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of awkward silences and sarcastic jokes.
> 
> So what's in the box?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been having difficulties. Also, real life is becoming such that I'm having less and less time for writing.
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, guys.

Steve’s feet felt heavy as he trailed after Sam and Tony on the way to T’Challa’s laboratory. That was actually a first; he had never before experienced an instance where he would rather be forgotten than outright face someone. Well, okay, he could recall the many times he had avoided his mother’s eyes for various reasons (making her pay for his health issues or hiding the injuries he got from a bully, just to mention a couple). So maybe not a first, but the very first after Sarah, and that was something to be astounded by. Not even Fury’s evil eye could make him feel like he wanted to blend in with the shadows.

From day one Steve had had no idea how to deal with the self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. They had started on rough footing: he had assumed the worst of Tony from the reports and the videos before they had even met, while Tony had made his hatred for Captain America clear enough. But even after they had already mellowed into a harmonious synchrony, there was still something about Tony that had Steve on his toes. He just _could not get a handle_ on the guy. Tony had a knack for getting to him with just a word or a look and often all Steve could do was lose his head.

Today was no different. He messed up. He knew that. Steve knew he should not have bristled. Tony had the right to be angry with him and Bucky. But he could not deny that he had hoped. He thought that Tony coming meant that he had accepted that it was all on HYDRA. So when Tony had let out the barbs, Steve had risen to the bait. His nerves had gotten to him and a frustration he did not know he was carrying had reared its ugly head.

Somehow he felt that all he had been doing when it came to Tony was make things worse.

When Steve arrived at the laboratory, Bucky’s chamber was already out. The scientists were poring over his vital signs and brain waves, but Sam and Tony were right in front of the capsule, murmuring to themselves. Steve stopped just a few feet behind them, enough to hear them talk about Bucky.

“--if he has lizard blood in him, I’d take a shot at watching him grow a limb.”

Sam let out a snort. “Since when did you become a biochemist, Stark?”

Tony shrugged. “I like to dabble in the arts.”

“It’s science.”

“You should appreciate the beauty of science, Wilson. You live your life in it.”

It felt so long ago, the last time Sam and Tony had bantered like they did now. They might not have talked much before the team split up, but they had shared a kind of humor that Steve learned to love. Even if they teased him, too.

When Sam spotted Steve at the door, his friend raised an eyebrow in question. Steve just shrugged and looked down, resisting the urge to shuffle his feet. What was he supposed to do when Tony did not seem intent to talk to him?

With a roll of his eyes, Sam subtly moved away from the chamber and came up to him. Tony must have sensed it, because as soon as Sam retreated, he immediately went to the monitors without so much as a glance in their direction. Tony did not want to see _him_.

“I told him why Barnes went back to the ice. Think it simmered him down a bit,” Sam muttered, glancing at Tony. “Look, I’ll help you any way I can, but for god’s sake, don’t make this harder than it already is. You know where you stand. Be a sport and take it like you should.”

“I know,” Steve answered. Then, with a slow intake of breath… “Can you leave us alone?”

“Can you make sure you don’t blow up the lab? I don’t wanna be cat food just because you can’t have a talk without snapping at each other.”

With a clap on his shoulder, Sam nudged him towards Tony before leaving the laboratory. Steve watched him go before steeling himself.

_Time to face the music._

Tony had already taken out the pair of glasses Steve had seen him wearing in the MIT video. He was showing it to the doctors by the monitors, demonstrating how to use it from the gestures he was making. He was so lively, so enthusiastic in showing his invention, that Steve almost regretted interrupting the scene.

When one of the doctors -- a man in his late twenties with braided hair and a thin mustache -- glanced at him, Tony briefly went rigid before folding the glasses and turning to him. Steve automatically averted his gaze. It was not like him, but he had had enough of seeing Tony’s anger. “Can we…” Steve cleared his throat. “Can we talk?” He was sure it had not taken Tony even a minute to respond, but everything was in slow motion while he waited for a response.

“Sure.” Tony sounded unnaturally casual when he finally answered. “Sure. Where do you want to talk? Outside? Fine, fine. Gentlemen, ladies, let’s continue this discussion later, alright?” When Steve looked up, he could not help noticing the blankness in Tony’s face. With a clap of his hands and a wide gesture to the entrance to the laboratory, Tony chirped, “After you.”

Steve was aware of the eyes on them as they left the laboratory. He had never been self-conscious, but, as always with Tony, there was a first time for everything. Most of the people in the room had turned to them as they went. He hoped they did not notice his tension.

Once they were outside the room, Steve turned around. Tony was still staring at him with that carefully blank look, his dark brown eyes wary and unblinking, arms hugged against his chest. His lips were pressed together and there were large circles under his eyes. He had not been sleeping, Steve could tell.

“I haven’t got all day, Rogers. Either talk or let me do what I came here for.” Tony sniffed, attention easily moving to a crate of unique-looking devices that a scientist was carrying into the laboratory.

Steve sighed. “Did you get my letter?”

“Hm?” Tony snapped back to him. “Oh. Yeah, yeah, I did. Nice touch with the phone. You could’ve done better. Wasn’t I generous with the salary? How much was that? A dollar?”

“Thirty.”

“Rip off. I’d sell that for five.”

“You estimated it at one.”

“Have to make a profit. Who even sells that junk, anyway?”

Steve smiled a little, and it felt like he hadn’t done that for ages. They were exchanging jokes. He missed that. “It doesn’t have a GPS locator.”

Tony shrugged, turning to watch the laboratory again. “You know I use my own satellite.”

“I don’t want to impose on you anymore.”

Tony paused to look at him, before turning back to the direction of the laboratory. “Fair enough.”

Steve gritted his teeth as the conversation died down. Tony was someone who always had a counter, be it a wiseass remark or a calculated argument, but he said nothing about the letter. Had he even read it? His aloofness was making it difficult to talk, which was not so different from a rambling Tony. _He would not listen_ . How could Steve make Tony _look_ at him?

At that moment, behind the genius, Sam peeked around the corner at the end of the hallway. Steve stilled, confused -- because seriously, how Sam could ever maintain that near-permanent flat expression, he would never know -- until Sam jabbed a thumb in Tony’s direction and mouthed, _“Thank him!”_

_Right!_

“Thank you,” Steve hastily said, turning back to Tony. Upon setting his gaze on him, his franticness eased, and with more sincerity, he continued, “I really do appreciate this, Tony.” He found himself looking down at their feet, realized they had not been this close since Siberia, and dragged his eyes back up. Tony was right there. Steve had to make sure he was still with him. “Not just with Bucky. Breaking everybody out wasn’t easy, not without your help.”

Tony’s eyes growing bigger than they already were was something Steve did not know was possible, but watching it happen was like watching an animation. He could not help a small smile. But as slowly as the shock had registered on it, Tony’s face schooled into an unreadable expression again. “The team didn’t deserve it,” he replied, pausing as if to say something, but closed his mouth.

Steve waited for him to continue, nodding in understanding when there was nothing more. Tony was just saying things to sound friendly. Of course it was Steve’s fault. “It was the only way we could think of.”

Tony’s jaw worked, before a long sigh came out and he gave a dismissive wave. “You said it yourself. You did what you had to do.” He lowered his head, eyes becoming unfocused, and raised a hand to rub his forehead. In that moment, he looked more vulnerable than Steve thought he could ever appear. “Ross called it. Right after we arrested them.” In a quieter voice, so quiet it would have only been a jumble of sounds if Steve did not have supersonic hearing, he mumbled, “I let it happen.”

A deep breath escaped Steve’s lips. Tony sounded...remorseful? “Tony, you… Do you regret it?”

The engineer froze and his eyes flitted in all directions. “Regret what? Taking the team to a high-security prison? Attempting to murder your friend? Letting Rhodes fall off the sky? You got to be specific, Rogers, there’s many things I--” And then he trailed off, heaving another heavy sigh.“Look, Rogers, I’m doing this for myself,” he kept his gaze on the laboratory. “I made a deal. I lend T’Challa my tech, he helps your friend, I get a one-on-one with the Soldier. I want that program off him. I want to talk to him when it’s over. That’s the only reason I’m even here.”

Steve found himself swallowing. He wanted to talk more. Tony himself was not fine and Steve wanted to fix that. But how could he go past the line that Tony had already drawn between them? “That’s fine,” was the only thing he could say. “That’s fine. Thank you.”

Tony turned to him with a look like he had grown another head, before clearing his throat and looking away. An uneasy silence took over them again. Steve, for the umpteenth time that day, did not know how to fill in the blanks.

“Well then… If that’s all you have to say...” Tony offered him a brief smile as he started back for the laboratory.

“Tony, wait!” Steve called.

Tony froze, hand on the handle with the door already ajar, and looked at him with raised brows. Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “You don’t have to be in a hurry. Someone’s in there 24/7. You should take a rest. Did you eat lunch?”

_What the hell, Steve?_

Tony’s mouth moved like he was repeating the question to himself, his eyes rolling like he was was asking God just what was happening. Steve was starting to feel small. He had just acted like an idiot. When was the last time he had acted like an idiot around someone? Peggy? “Do you have _anything else_ to say?”

Sam peeked out from around the corner, shaking his head. Frustrated, Steve just rubbed a hand against his forehead before looking back up. Tony was still staring at him, mouth downturned into a frown, evidently in a hurry to get away from him. And he knew he had done that, had caused this rift between them. _Make it matter,_ the voice screamed at him.

“I’m sorry, Tony. I really am.” Tony’s mouth clamped shut, but Steve, seeing his chance and finding the words he had been wanting to say, plowed on. “I mean what I said in the letter. I wish we could have agreed with the Accords. I wish it didn’t have to end up this way. And I know it wasn’t right to hide it, what happened to your parents. But he’s my friend. I didn’t know how to tell you.” Steve sighed. “I swear, Tony, if I can do something, if I can make up for it…”

“Enough,” Tony cut him off, eyes empty and unfocused.

“Tony…”

“You know what I’m thinking of right now?” the engineer persisted. “Where’s my coffee? Get me my coffee.”

Steve knew Tony enough to take that as a deflection. “Please, Tony, don’t--” But the engineer only gave him a piercing stare.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Tony grumbled and without another word hurried back to the laboratory. Steve stared after him, letting out a breath, and turned to Sam who came out of his hiding place.

“He really doesn’t like you,” Sam remarked, patting him on the shoulder. “Must be something you did.”

Steve let out an amused huff. Give it to Sam to make a joke out of it. “I definitely did something, yeah,” he agreed, leaning against the door and watching as Tony quickly settled in with the doctors and the scientists. In a matter of minutes, they had already gathered around him, interested in his invention and entertained by his witty explanation. A sense of deja vu settled upon him. It was similar to that time Tony had entered the main deck at the Helicarrier, stealing the spotlight with all the technical ramble about the Tesseract.

“He’s unpredictable, Tony Stark,” Sam said beside him. When Steve turned to him, he was sternly studying the sight. He returned Steve’s raised eyebrow with a small twitch of a smile. “He came. That’s a big deal.”

That was what Steve thought, too. This whole set-up, no matter how hostile Tony may be to him, must have meant that the team had a chance. That Tony was giving them a chance.

_Right?_

“Come on.” Sam knocked on his arm. “He won’t like it if you hover. ”

With one last glance at the laboratory, at Tony’s already lowered gaze checking Bucky’s records, Steve nodded and followed Sam out of the palace. Their shifts were starting in half an hour.

Being a refugee in a foreign country that had recently opened up to the world made it fairly hard for them to blend in, but at least manual labor was always in demand. Firefighting was not as frequent, thank goodness, but that had meant that Steve still did have a lot of time in his hands. So he and Sam found jobs at the harbor. Their employer was a former seaman who was more than glad to meet foreigners and was more aware than he let on. He had recognized them both as soon as he saw them and readily put them to work the same day. Having other things to do than sit and _think_ put Steve at ease. Today, he was most especially grateful for the steady arrival of shipment from several major shipping lines.

Steve quickly changed into his uniform and was already transferring cargo when Sam caught up to him. He chuckled as his friend grumbled about “stupid science” and “unfair super strength.”

“It’s not as fun as you think,” he replied, setting down a crate of imported wool for security to check. “Science projects aren’t perfect.”

“Yeah,” Sam mused. “If I have to be a walking national flag, I’ll pass.”

Steve chuckled again, but stopped when his eyes landed on another set of shipment that just came in. STARK INDUSTRIES, in the bold, solid text he was so familiar with, was written all over the cargo. There should have been no reason for Steve to be taken aback by the sight. Of course Tony’s company would be at the forefront of making business with Wakanda.

“Captain. Falcon.”

Before Steve could put his finger on what was pulling at his gut, his attention was diverted to T’Challa who was coming up to them in royal robes. It fit him very well, elegant and prim as he was, although Steve preferred the casual jeans and shirt he more often walked around in. The would-be king mentioned to him how it made him feel more like himself when he did not have to “dress under false pretenses.” “You have met with Stark, I hear,” he continued. “How did it go?”

“As smooth as a rocky road,” Sam replied. “There wasn’t a moment I didn’t want to save this guy from mortal peril. You sure Stark doesn’t have Black Panther blood in him?”

T’Challa’s face became a mix of exasperation and amusement, though he ignored Sam’s quip and instead looked at Steve expectantly. Steve returned the stare with a shrug. “He drew a line. I don’t want to push him.”

The brightness fell away from T’Challa’s face, the king’s head lowering as he nodded. “I understand. But, I have to show you something. Come with me.” He led them to the SI shipment, going straight to one of the smaller boxes. Just like the others, it had the logo of Tony’s company written all over it.

“He _has_ been busy,” the king remarked. “When he agreed to me, he told me to give him all the information I had gathered on Mr. Barnes. He also gave me a list of things to prepare. Security measures, mostly. But this… This, I did not predict him to have done.” He nodded to the workers and two of them lifted off the lid. Steve’s heart leaped. Inside, cradled in small pieces of styrofoam, was Bucky’s metal arm. A longer look told him it was not the same one, however. Bucky’s arm had broken when Tony blasted it off. This one was whole, with a clean attachment site and a varnished surface. The red star was missing from the upper arm.

“He remade Barnes’s arm?” Sam’s voice was full of awe. A whistle. “Damn. Tony Stark.”

“I was just as surprised, Falcon,” T’Challa answered. “This was not part of our--Captain?”

Steve was already stepping back. “I… I, uh…” He moved his eyes away from the arm to the direction of the laboratory. “I… I have to go back.”

“You okay, Steve?”

“Yeah!” Steve answered hastily. “I just…” _I have to talk to him._

Sam and T’Challa looked at each other and turned back to him. “I’ll cover you,” Sam finally said, shrugging. “You do your thing. Whatever it is.”

Steve gave Sam a grateful smile and took off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also in my [tumblr.](http://illusorycrystal.tumblr.com/post/155041020585/differences-and-viewpoints-ch-7-steve-ii)


	8. Peter - I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day looks pretty bright.
> 
> But that is one weird passenger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know I was supposed to write Steve, but I had to do this. This is a seemingly random chapter dedicated to Peter, because I finally saw the first Homecoming trailer. Peter’s just adorable and his relationship with Tony more so.

PETER

 

Peter Parker had always known about Iron Man. The hero had emerged eight years ago, going to war-torn countries and destroying enemy bases with powerful energy blasts from his hands. Peter was seven. He did not know better than that the human-sized robot with red and gold finish was the coolest thing he had ever seen. All he knew was that Iron Man was a very smart guy who fought bad men in a suit of armor he made himself. Peter dreamed he would do the same when he grew up.

 

A couple of years later, he followed the news of Tony Stark as he destroyed his own reputation. But young Peter, the innocent fan he was back then, simply found it incredible that a billionaire could afford to race cars and throw big parties. In the middle of studying, he would dream of being a CEO himself, shaking hands with the president, surrounded by models, drinking with other rich men. Aunt May would then call him down to dinner, and he would continue the dreaming before going to sleep, a figure of Iron Man standing on his bedside table.

 

When the Avengers was formed, Peter was eleven. He was the smartest in his class, a Straight A student. He had also gotten used to having his lunch stolen by his classmates and trash greeting him in the morning whenever he opened his locker. Uncle Ben had already replaced his glasses twice that year because this kid Flash kept throwing it carelessly after making fun of him. He had learned to lie about why he always broke his glasses, but he felt good that his aunt and uncle had faith in him. Peter would go to bed staring at the Iron Man and Captain America figures on his table. He hoped that one day the heroes would suddenly arrive and take him from his school. He hoped that Iron Man would give him a ride and maybe let him meet the other Avengers. He hoped that Captain America would teach him a few self-defense moves. He dreamed.

 

When the Avengers were dealing with the disaster in Sokovia, Peter was bitten by a radioactive spider. Overnight, he gained superhuman abilities that let him do things no normal human could. He could dodge Flash and hit him back. Flash could not bully him anymore. Peter could stop hoping for superheroes to help him. But he kept Iron Man and Captain America on his bedside table, still going to bed wondering if one of these days, he could become like them.

 

Then Uncle Ben was shot by a robber, the same robber Peter had refused to catch out of petty revenge. Uncle Ben died in Peter’s arms, holding on to his hands, his consciousness slipping away. That day, Peter stopped dreaming. He stopped dreaming of the Avengers coming to his aid. He stopped hoping for Iron Man or Captain America to pat his back and tell him he was a good kid.

 

Because he was not a good kid. He failed his heroes. He killed his uncle.

 

He was shaken off his reverie by the sound of footsteps to his room and the bedroom door opening. “Hey, tough guy,” Aunt May poked her head in and grinned. “How long are you going to play hooky?”

 

Peter, having hidden his small radio before she saw him listening to the news, feigned having just woken up and blearily opened an eye. “What time is it?” he mumbled, yawning.

 

“It’s time for you,” Aunt May came over and pulled the sheets off him, “to get up, eat breakfast, and go to school. Up, little rebel. You have a test today, don’t you?”

 

Peter sleepily groaned, but did what he had to do. “I’m up, I’m up.” With the confirmation that he was fully awake, Aunt May left the room, and Peter followed her soon after to the kitchen. A plate of eggs and bacon was already waiting for him while Aunt May cleaned the dishes. Peter sat down at the counter, watching the morning news. The show switched to a clip of a robbery in Staten Island last night. It then showed a picture of a gaunt man with sunken eyes and unkempt blond hair wearing a white undershirt, while the newscaster went on with her report.

 

_ “The suspect, Stanley Ashton, escaped in a black van with plate number--” _

 

“Peter, you’re going to be late.” Aunt May was pushing his plate towards him and Peter realized that he had not even touched his breakfast. Ducking his head, he quickly finished his meal. It niggled him that he could not pick up all the events with just his radio, and while he had mentioned this to Tony before, the latter had not thought much of it, even telling Peter not to expose himself too much as he was still not registered.

 

_ “We have people,” Tony said amid the sound of clanking and whirring while the engineer worked on what had, over the days, started to look suspiciously like an arm. Peter would know. He had once complimented its owner for having it. “The police. The military. They can take care of anything you can’t.” _

 

_ “Could’ve fooled me,” Peter somberly muttered, at which Tony paused with his project. “They kind of need my help, you know? They don’t get there early enough.” _

 

_ “That’s true.” Tony set the drill down and pushed his goggles up. “And you do. No doubt about that. But you’re attracting attention. We don’t want that.” It might have been obvious on Peter’s face that he was holding back from mentioning Iron Man’s flashy design and yet Tony Stark’s even flashier confession, since Tony’s face had scrunched up. “My situation was different from yours, Pete.” _

 

_ “How different?” _

 

_ “Well…” Tony lifted a small piece of metal to his eyes and scrutinized it against a slot in the soon-to-be arm. “We didn’t have regulations back then. The whole world wasn’t out for Avenger blood. The only abnormality science had created in history was Captain America. You get the gist. Point is… you can’t swing around all the time. Don’t take more than you can handle. Stay out of sight. As long as you’re not on the register, you’re labeled a criminal.” _

 

_ Peter chewed the inside of his cheek in growing frustration. “That’s not fair. I’m just trying to do what’s right.” _

 

_ Tony gave him a weary look and he subtly huffed, trying to avoid looking just as exasperated by the conversation. “Look, I swear I won’t do anything stupid, but you have to admit it really sucks when I have to run from the cops all the time.” Peter jumped off the table to peer more closely at Tony’s work. “Not to mention all this secrecy stuff is getting old.” _

 

_ “Right.” Tony glanced at him with an incredulous look. “Like you actually planned to tell anyone about Spider-Boy?” _

 

_ Peter had to pout at that. “It’s Spider-Man!” Then he sighed, slumping against the work table. “I get it. I’ll be careful. But if you’re so worried about the higher-ups clueing in on us, why are you still…?” He gestured at the fragmented technology between them, looking at Tony curiously. When the latter raised an eyebrow in question, Peter continued, “I mean, you know, aside from being old friends--” _

 

_ “Teammates.” _

 

_ Peter paused at that, giving the older guy a long, questioning gaze. Tony’s expression remained unchanged, that of something akin to a tickled befuddlement, and Peter decided that it was useless to understand the spontaneous correction of vocabulary. “--teammates,” he repeated slowly. “Didn’t you say they went against the law and that you have nothing to do with them from now on?” _

 

_ It was at this that Tony broke eye contact, waving his hand dismissively. “You know, I break stuff, I fix stuff. It’s a business deal.” Again, the disbelief must have been written all over Peter’s face because Tony took on a wide-eyed defensive look. “What? You think there’s more?” _

 

_ “I don’t know. I mean, if I had the chance to… uh… save my uncle, I’d take it.” Realizing what he just said, Peter looked away, avoiding Tony’s thoughtful stare. It was not like he wanted to say it. It just came out. _

 

_ A loud clap made him jump. Tony was already moving away from the worktable, taking his goggles off. “I’m hungry! You up for Chinese?” _

 

_ Relieved that Tony did not prod on Uncle Ben, Peter quickly responded. “Yeah, sure! Where to?” _

 

The change in topic was so convenient that he easily forgot about it, but now that Peter remembered it, there was just no way that he could chalk Tony’s project up to a simple business deal. The alternative reason he could think of — Tony making up with the Captain and his friends — was optimistic. He liked the idea, wished it was the case, even, because who could blame a rabid Avengers fan for wanting his idols to get back together?

 

“Peter,” Aunt May’s warning tone snapped him out of his thoughts. She turned the television off in an attempt to remove his distraction. “You’ll miss the bus. Move it.”

 

With a sheepish grin, Peter grabbed his backpack, yelling a quick, “See you later, Aunt May!” and jogged out of the door into a bright spring morning. He did not know why, but the warm sunlight convinced him that that maybe, just maybe, he was right. That, maybe, his dream team was coming back together.

 

Thankfully, despite leaving home later than usual, he managed to reach the bus on time and with a vacant seat to boot. Beside the seat, someone was slumped against the window, his head covered by a newspaper. The snore Peter heard as he slung himself on the empty seat told him the guy was asleep, although the sudden movement made the stranger jump.

 

“Wha-what? Where am I?” The newspaper slipped off his head, but Peter had a hard time making out the guy’s face as he was wearing a cap under a hoodie on top of a pair of sunglasses. Who even wore that kind of clothing inside a bus? Weird guy.

 

“You’re on a bus, I guess?” Peter doubtfully replied.

 

“A bus? Oh yeah, yeah.” The guy shifted to a more comfortable position, popping his lips a few times. “So much better than sixteen hours in a tank of shit.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Oh yeah, if you decide to ride a ship in a box of dead fish, I suggest Clorox. Gets the smell off, trust me. Don’t try Ajax. That name rubs me the wrong way. Gives me this weird, tickly, itchy feel to my hands, you know? Like I just want to…” The man punched his one hand with his other.

 

Peter ogled the stranger. There was something wrong with this guy. He looked at the seats across from them, at the people in front of them, but no one seemed to have heard the guy. Oh hell, he hoped this was not one of those prank shows, because the last thing he needed was be shown on television stupidly gaping at the camera.

 

Suddenly the man was up and hollering at the driver. “Wait up! Drop me off! ‘Scuse me!” Peter adjusted to let the man out, and he stumbled along the aisle to the door. He watched him argue with the driver before forcing open the door and jumping out while the  _ bus was still running _ .

 

Peter’s jaw dropped amid the sound of gasps and cries in the bus. The man landed rolling on the road and onto the sidewalk, but as the bus turned a corner, Peter saw the man stand up and dust himself like nothing happened.

 

“What the hell?” he breathed, dropping back onto his seat. His Spider Sense was not tingling, and there was nothing spectacular about this part of the neighborhood. The other passengers looked as shocked as he was and nobody was doing the “It’s a joke!” thing, so this was definitely not a prank.

 

Maybe the guy was drunk. Yeah, that was it. The man must have been coming home from a night of drinking.

 

It did not explain the nagging feeling that he had not thought the incident out as well as he should. But soon, the bus was stopping in front of his school and, remembering the test waiting for him in an hour, Peter all but forgot the encounter with the strange guy. It did not recur to him for the rest of the day, not until evening, when he was sitting on a rooftop ledge listening to the radio.

 

It was probably the fact that the guy was seemingly doing his best to hide his appearance. Or the fact that he had spoken sort of illegally. Or the fact that he could jump out of a speeding bus and walk away unscathed.

  
On hindsight, maybe Peter really should have followed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted in my [tumblr.](http://illusorycrystal.tumblr.com/post/155250253870/differences-and-viewpoints-ch-8-peter-i)


	9. Steve - III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lays it out.
> 
> He hopes he somehow gets through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this, I present...
> 
> A five-page chapter of nothing but Steve and Tony talking.
> 
> Let it be known that I struggled with this chapter for months. Pastime writing does not go well with residency training, I give you that. I shall also let you guys know... I regret nothing and the shields are up. Let the violent reactions come.

The laboratory was empty save for Tony, who was standing on a stool attaching a device to the corner of the glass wall, and two doctors who were standing by the door watching him with much interest but equal uncertainty. They shrugged when they saw Steve coming in, muttering something about Tony banning them from helping or touching anything involving Bucky and his inventions. Some things never changed, Steve noted, surprised with himself when he realized that the thought was fond. Tony gave no sign of noticing him, as he kept moving and muttering technical terms to himself, and he took the chance to slip into the corner of the room farthest from where Tony was working. The doctors seemed to take this as enough amount of safety for both the laboratory and Tony, and they left not long after, leaving Steve alone to listen to the continuous, thoughtful murmurs of one absorbed engineer. It was then that Steve realized that a female voice was answering Tony’s musings.

“FRIDAY,” he breathed, unable to help himself. It had been a while since he heard Jarvis’s successor. Strange, the whole scenario made him feel quite at home.

Just like earlier, Tony went rigid like a car out of gas. Steve felt his own breath catch somewhere between his throat and his chest but he clenched his hands at his sides. Things between them could not be like this forever, and he was willing to prove to Tony just how much their friendship meant to him. Unfortunately, the silence that passed between them was dragging longer than Steve felt was comfortable. He needed Tony to respond, but the mechanic had done nothing of the sort but to lower his hands, still facing the window.

There were many, oh so many times Steve recalled being grateful to Tony’s AIs for one thing or another. JARVIS had saved his back from an incoming enemy, gave the team valuable information on enemies, and let every member know each other’s status. JARVIS had been a core member of the team. He had been indispensable. FRIDAY was no different. But she was a lot more straightforward with a sharper tongue. Despite the crispness with which she greeted him, Steve would be eternally grateful for her breaking the ice despite her creator’s obvious discomfort.

“Captain Rogers. It has been a while.”

Later on, Steve would reflect on the fact that Tony had not reprogrammed FRIDAY into forgetting his former identity. But for now, it put a small smile to his face hearing FRIDAY’s acknowledgement. Looking up just like how he used to when talking to her, Steve nodded in greeting. “Maybe a month, give or take a couple of days.”

“Thirty-four days, six hours, and 10 seconds, Captain. I have been—”

“Can’t even give me the day off from your holy presence, Rogers? What is it this time? Christ, you’re worse than a roach.”

Tony was already climbing down the stool and going over to a pile of electronic devices on the table. Their eyes made contact barely a second before the mechanic was already putting his tools away. Steve took a deep breath, hands clenching and unclenching. This was his chance.

“I saw the arm.”

Tony’s hand paused on its way to picking up a wrench, and despite his gaze being downturned, Steve could see a change in his expression. It was that tortured look again.

“You remade Bucky’s arm.”

And then it was gone, replaced by a deep frown before Tony turned his back to him. Steve realized that instead of picking up the wrench, Tony was holding BARF, his form tense. All the determination trickled away. He knew by now that butting heads with Tony would go nowhere. He lowered his gaze.

“I know I didn’t say it right in my letter,” he began, “Did I...did I ever tell you how I started out?” Tony was now over at another table, farther from Steve, checking out a hologram of codes he could not understand except for a printout of what seemed to be a blueprint of the glasses. “I was never good with words.”

“You were a monkey act,” Tony piped up. Without so much as a glance, he added, “Howard.”

Steve nodded, swallowing. “He talked about me a lot.”

Tony spared no second replying tersely, almost reluctantly. “Could’ve sworn he was gay for you. Do me a favor. Shut up and get out.”

 _Wrong, Steve,_ Steve silently scolded himself, a tight sigh hissing between his teeth. Mentioning Howard always struck a nerve with Tony. He rattled his head for another way, another route.

Another glance at Tony and the glasses, and Steve remembered that memory of the morning before Howard and Maria died. His throat constricted, his reflexive swallowing becoming a challenge. With another deep, anxious breath, he let the words tumble out.

“What I did was unforgivable. I know it was wrong. It was out of line. It… I didn’t think of you. Only myself. It’s… it’s hard to explain, really, what I did.” He smiled spitefully at himself. “It’s just that I knew it wasn’t the Bucky I knew. And if I had told you…I would lose you.”

When he looked back up, Tony had frozen by the table he was at earlier. “I didn’t think I could ever be so...so…”

“Selfish?”

Steve closed his eyes and hung his head. “I never meant to hurt you. Believe me. I never did. I never meant any of this to happen. I never meant for things to get out of control. I dealt with it as best as I can. It wasn’t my best, I’ll give you that. But that’s why...I want to try again. If… If you can… Give me a bit more of your time. Please. I hope you can give me another chance.”

That was when FRIDAY spoke up about a miscalculation Tony somehow happened to make. Steve heard the mechanic grumble a curse before he swiftly moved to correct the error. He dared a step toward him.

“I really do appreciate all of it, Tony. Everything you’ve done for us. There’s no way I can make up for the things you’ve done. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I believe in you. I’ll always believe in you.”

He would later wonder what made him wait for an answer that would not come, but he did take a chance, staring at the back of Tony’s head and hoping he would at least spare him some amount of attention, before he finally surrendered to the idea that they had reached the end. With a defeated nod, Steve numbly turned. Tony wanted to be left alone. That was it, he thought. This was how they ended.

“That’s the longest pep talk you ever did.”

When Steve snapped back to attention, Tony was glaring at him with so much anger that he thought he was going to lash out and try a punch even with the distance between them. Then it was gone. Where it had been was that vulnerable look, that lost stare Tony so frequently carried at times, an expression Steve had often noticed, and one he was just realizing now to be heavier than it seemed. Tony’s hands had slowed down over the keyboards, and his voice was quiet when he spoke again. “You ever stopped to think it wasn’t worth it?”

“What isn’t?”

The mechanic shrugged. “Everything.”

It was at this point that the realization dawned on Steve. That tortured look had not been an expression of humiliation, no. It was…

_Are you giving up?_

“It’s always worth it, Tony. Everything we did, everything we fought for. Even if we disagreed at times, it’s always worth it.”

Tony smiled mirthlessly at him. “You know, I could have sworn I once believed that speech about family and friends.” He turned to another hologram. “Very flowery outlook. Kind of like a drug. Drugs are dangerous, you know? Trust me. I went through that phase.”

“Tony…”

Tony raised a hand. “Rogers. For the last time, that thing’s over. All right? Over. Zip. The end. Fin. You go your way, I’m going mine. This?” He waved his hands, gesturing to the whole room. “It’s a parting gift. With some benefits for me. I mean…” He turned away again, fingering the glasses in his hands. The next words were said in a hush, as though they were thoughts Tony found hard to believe himself. “Who knows? I just might…” He rubbed a hand over his face, and his eyes...wore that same, agonized look in Siberia. “I need to forgive the bastard.”

Sometimes, there are just some actions a person finds himself doing without knowing why. In this case, Steve would say he had moved before realizing what he was getting himself into. But for the sake of putting a thought to his actions, it would be a booming, _“Tony needs me.”_ With an arm thrown around Tony’s shoulders and his forehead setting on the back of the other man’s head, Steve had a haunting feeling that this course of action would not be ending here. He could not care less. His own tone as he spoke was pleading even to his own ears.

“You’re worth it, Tony. Everything you do. Everything we do. It’s worth it.”

He tightened his hug in an attempt to emphasize his point.

“You’re a great man. You’ve done everything in your power to make things right. We’ve argued again and again, but Tony… I’m proud to have worked with you. I’m proud to know a man who’d willingly give his life saving strangers. I’ve trusted you with my life, with everyone’s life. My mistake was breaking _your_ trust. I’m willing to do everything in my power to make up for it.” Steve squeezed Tony’s shoulder before letting go. “I swear. I won’t let you fall from now on. Even if you don’t call, I’ll be there for you.”

He stepped back. Tony was still. Steve figured he did not need his answer. He already made a promise, more to himself than anything or anyone, that he would help Tony whenever he needed it. There was a skeptical voice at the back of his head asking if that was indeed the reason he had quickly left the laboratory. He certainly was not scared to hear Tony’s response.

Was he?

***

The next morning, Steve was preparing for his morning run when he saw Tony coming down the stairs to the second floor bedrooms.

“Rogers.”

Steve straightened up, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion when Tony, for whatever reason, scanned him from head to toe and cleared his throat. He was sure there was nothing wrong about going outside in a shirt and a pair of sweats. “Tony? Something you need?”

“No, no,” Tony responded with a hasty shake of his head, the pitch of his voice quite higher than usual. “It’s just...uh...about yesterday.”

This time, Steve raised an eyebrow, curious. There was something vaguely charming about the way Tony was acting. He could not put a finger on what it was. “Do you want to sit it out?”

There was the dismissive wave, but Tony’s gestures were anything _except_ comfortable. Had Steve done something wrong? “You didn’t wait for my answer.”

At that, Steve looked down, taking a deep breath. “Thought you needed time.” The word _afraid_ flashed in his head.

“Ah.” Tony’s lips twitched. “Well, you’re not wrong there.” He scratched the tip of his nose, still looking unsure, and mumbled something.

Steve blinked, too confused by the discomfort coming from Tony to process the word. “What?”

“Dear god, don’t make me say it again.”

“But I didn’t hear—”

“ _Thanks_ ,” Tony gritted out. “For yesterday.” He massaged the bridge of his nose. “‘Not good with words,’ my ass. You were born for pep talks, Rogers.”

Now Steve was thoroughly confused _and_ affronted. “Tony, that wasn’t a joke.”

“No, it wasn’t. I know that.”

“So why are you—”

“What I meant to say,” Tony cut him off, his voice louder. Then he paused and breathed deeply, like talking was the hardest thing in the world—quite ironic, considering the name Tony Stark was often described with “talkative.” “What I mean to say is… Thank you.” He nodded to Steve, his gaze glued to the ground. “For the apology. And the encouragement. For everything you said.” Then he briefly smiled, and Steve could not help but smile back. “Never thought you’d be the cheesy kind.”

Steve chuckled. Shocked as he was, this was a first with Tony that he wished he could have recorded. “Same here. But I meant every word.”

Tony let out an amused huff. “I’ll remember each one.” As Sam came jogging in their direction, he nodded again. “They say mammoths still live in the Wakandan forests. Let me know if you see one, will you?” Then he was walking away, back inside T’Challa’s palace.

Sam stopped beside Steve, also watching Tony’s back disappear in the direction of the laboratory. “So what were you guys talking about?”

Steve could not help but grin. “Mammoths.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted in my [tumblr.](http://illusorycrystal.tumblr.com/post/161238926795/differences-and-viewpoints-ch-9-steve-iii)


	10. Pre-Fic: Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes he forgets. The Captain is also human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-fic chapter! I can't believe I even _wrote_ anything.

Tony is famous for being crude. Well-known for his crass language and frank honesty, he tends to forget that people are not as hardy as they seem.

Rhodey gives him a good scolding every time. What is he, eight?

But being treated like a prepubescent aside, Tony can forget. He remembers details. He remembers important points. But he also forgets.

This happens a few weeks after Sokovia started recovering from Ultron’s disaster. Visiting the new facility after a day of looking over the clean-up process, he finds Steve outside, on the grass, drinking a bottle of beer with Sam. Tony remembers distinctly that ordinary liquor does not affect Steve. He also knows Steve does not drink out of nowhere. For him to try means he is yearning for that buzz, that depressing effect that alcohol gives, a chance to forget. A simple pleasure that he cannot have anymore. A trivial sacrifice for the greater good?

A gift can also be a curse. Tony knows.

The prospect of having someone to drink with is a tempting idea, so he decides to join them, gets a bottle from the fridge, and steps out into the lawn. They have their back to him, oblivious to his approach, and that is a surprise in and of itself. But the wind carries their voices to him, revealing to Tony the reason why.

“--sometimes better to sleep out.” Steve takes a swig.

“Too cold?” Sam offers. When the question is met with silence, he continues, “Feels like the winter tours?”

Steve lowers his head. “Like being frozen.”

Tony stops mid-step, mouth open with an impressive boasting about his Tower’s air conditioning system having an automatic body temperature sensor. He realizes he has almost stepped into a conversation he should not be in. The soldiers continue, however, and the more immature part of his brain convinces him to stay a bit longer.

“I get those nights.” Sam’s head cocks up, as if he is looking at the stars. “Can’t sleep well. It gets too dark. Something blows up.”

“But there’s nothing,” Steve finishes. “It’s just too quiet.”

Deafening silence amid invading aliens and exploding galaxies flash in Tony’s mind and he tucks his bottle away. Wrong night, he thinks, turning on his heel. He has just lost the urge to join the pair, not when he knows it is not his place. He is dense and tactless, rude and dirty to the point of being an infamous celebrity. Knowing how he is, there is no way he can stay without saying the wrong thing. He knows to at least read the small details enough to let them have their hard-earned peace.

“What about that apartment in Brooklyn?”

“Can’t. There’s just...so much to do. Bucky’s missing. The team’s changing.”

“Can’t hurt to have your own place, Steve. There’s nothing like home sweet home.”

_"The simple life."_

_"You'll get there one day."_

_"I don't know. Family, stability... The guy who wanted all that went in the ice 75 years ago. I think someone else came out."_

_"You all right?"_

_"I'm home.”_

Steve’s chuckle is soft. “This is my home now, Sam.”

More than that is the gnawing feeling that he has forgotten that the Captain, more than his father’s idol, more than a science experiment, is also human, one who has gone through wars, seen comrades die, sacrificed himself to save billions of people. The man behind the title suffers silently, bearing the burden of leadership, of people relying on him.

The hero he admires and hates has a weakness.

Tony quietly goes back inside, telling FRIDAY to turn down the air conditioner in Steve’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted in my [tumblr.](http://illusorycrystal.tumblr.com/post/162882784460/differences-and-viewpoints-ch-10-cold)


End file.
